


A war of flesh and heart

by ameliaspunkcomplex



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Highschool AU in which they never were and never will be superheroes, I Love You All, a smidgen of FrostIron but not really, also I can't write, just teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliaspunkcomplex/pseuds/ameliaspunkcomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Avengers Highschool AU in which Clint is sweet but Loki is alluring and Natasha finds herself wondering if it was worth making friends in the first place.<br/>Requested by arrowthroughthespider on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr; http://metaphoricalpenguin.tumblr.com

Natasha was hopelessly lost. She traipsed through the corridor, studying each door and referring back to the pathetic, incomprehensible map she’d had thrown at her by the receptionist.   
She traced a finger along a building on the north of the map and glanced at a number on a classroom. Was she on the wrong floor? “So if this is E Block then I need to-”  
“Hey!” Yelled somebody, and she snapped her head up. Standing a few feet down the corridor was a guy; tall, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes, sporting a goofy grin. “You new?”  
“You bet,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow. In all her worldly experience; of which she had a fair bit, considering this was her fifth high school this year, he was a jock. Not football, athletics or track or something. He was wearing a team jacket, but she wasn’t sure what club he belonged to.   
“And do the new kids always talk to themselves?”  
She scowled. “Look, I need to find… E115. Do you have any idea where that is?” He flashed a crooked smiled again and re-adjusted his backpack. “Do you have English with Mr Bryant?” She nodded. “Great, me too.”  
Natasha gave him a sceptical look, and he laughed. “Yeah, we’re a bit late. I wasn’t planning on going but now something interesting’s happening… come on.” He beckoned for her to follow.  
She followed him silently – despite his best efforts at conversation – up a flight of stairs. She wasn’t planning on making any friends if this was going to end like it always did; her dad promising it was permanent followed by the company re-locating him, apologies and her pretending she didn’t mind. In all honesty, she could do with just a bit of continuity. That was why her mother had left.  
The boy’s voice pulled her from her train of thoughts, and she blinked slowly and looked at him with a blank expression. “Ya head in the clouds or something, new kid? I said we’re here.” The door looked like any other bar a barely noticeable ‘E115’ scratched into the plaster of the wall. Classy. He pulled the door open and Natasha stepped in behind him, making a point to have a staring contest with the floor because if there was one thing she hated it was the judgemental, evaluating glares. She still wasn’t used to being watched like a monkey in a cage; it was horrible.  
The professor was a middle aged man – maybe in his forties – who had light ginger hair that was slowly growing back into his head. His forehead was lined with frown lines and the corners of his mouth were pulled down into a permanent grimace. He didn’t turn away from the board, simply said, “And is there a reason you decided to join us, Clint?” with a weary sigh. Everybody laughed.  
The boy – Clint – flashed his never-wavering smile at the teacher who turned slowly and gave Natasha a brief glance. “This is…”  
“Natasha,” she said.  
“Right, Natasha,” Clint agreed. “She was lost. I helped her out sir.”  
“You hero,” said the teacher, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just take a seat. I’m sorry, Natasha, I wasn’t aware you were coming. For now, you’ll have to sit next to your knight in shining armour while I sort out a seating plan. Feel free to hit him if you feel the need. I often do.” He turned back to the board. “Persuasive writing…” Fantastic. She’d done this a thousand times.  
Clint leaned across to her desk. “So Natasha huh? You heard the teacher, I’m Clint, Clint Barton,” he whispered. ‘What’s the worst that can happen,’ she thought, hesitating for a moment before turning to face him. “Natasha Romanoff.”   
“Really? How exotic. Where’re you from?”  
She sighed. “Russia, originally. But I’ve kind of lived everywhere.”  
“That’s cool,” he said with a nod. “So what are you doing in New York?”  
“My dad’s company. They relocated him again.”  
Mr Bryant glared at them. Clint raised his eyebrows and blinked innocently. “Be quiet, Barton.”  
“Sorry sir,” he said, and then quietly to Natasha, “Do you have anyone to sit with at lunch?” She shook her head tentatively. “Cool. I’ll introduce you to the gang. Just come with me when the bell rings.” She experimented with a smile small that didn’t feel too foreign. Maybe this time she could at least try. “Hey, thanks,” she whispered, silenced by another stern look. They both buried their heads into their books; Natasha knew persuasive speaking inside out but considering the way she’d met him, Clint could do with catching up on some.  
‘Here we go again,’ she thought.


	2. Chapter 2

English lasted an hour and ten minutes; she had four periods a day, each an equal length and two breaks. One was after first period and was only 20 minutes long; the second was after third and was extended to 40 minutes. It didn’t change the fact that each class seemed to drag on for an eternity; the major disadvantage of school hopping was that the material was so tired, overused, and she still couldn’t get the hang of it. It was embarrassing to admit she’d done simple interest in five different schools and still needed help.

Clint was what got her through the first day. Try as she did to put up her icy wall, to stay away from everyone and isolate herself like she had to survive everywhere else, he was friendly and nice is a persistent way. She couldn’t keep her guard up for long, and after having known him for the entirety of one whole class, they walked down the hallway together when the bell rang, laughing and talking and comparing schedules. She had him for English and Humanities. He let her know a few of his friends were in her other classes.

“You’ll meet them in a second. In fact,” he said as they walked past the canteen, “here we are,” he threw a wave at a group who were crowded around a table.  
She noted that that the fact there was only a handful of benches on the upper quadrant and they were occupying one that they were somewhat high up on the social ladder. Not that it mattered to her, but it could make life a bit easier for however long she was stuck at the school.  
She glanced around the group with the same evaluative look she’d receive countless times. One of them – all guys – sat at the centre. He was short with black hair, tinted shades and a very definite style of clothing. She decided he had to be somewhat commanding because in any other school, the blondes – one tall with sparkling blue eyes, a warm smile and toned muscles and another with messy, shoulder length hair who looked like he ate steroids for breakfast – would be in charge. Instead, they sat on benches surrounding the shorter who lay on the bench, as if sunbathing, taking up all the room.  
She knew she was either going to love this guy, or hate him.  
The last guy she didn’t notice for a second; he was short as well, but not as much as the guy on the table. He was a tousled brunette with glasses who was seemingly studying feverously. At any other school, he would have been a nerd. Here he was hanging out with a bunch of sports nuts and rich kids, from the looks of them. Definitely a weird school.  
“All guys,” she murmured to Clint.  
“Hey, you can be our token chick. It’ll be cool.”  
He stepped over and threw his bag on the floor.  
“D’ya actually go to class Clint?” said the guy laying down who apparently wasn’t sleeping.  
“Shut up Tony. Guys, this is Natasha,” he said, pointing to her.  
“Natasha, this is Tony,” he said gesturing to the shortest on the table who didn’t look up, but just raised his hand in a lazy wave. “Thor,” pointing to the muscly blond, “And Steve,” to the other blond. They both gave her big, warm grins. “And Bruce,” who was the brunette, looking up from his notes for a second to flash her a wonky, but well-meaning smile which faded almost instantaneously as he went back to his obsessive reading. She nodded shyly at them.

“Let me see your timetable,” Tony said abruptly, once again not bothering to sit up or look at her. Giving him a look that went unnoticed, she held out the piece of paper. He rolled on his side and raised his eyebrow, and she gave him an exasperated glare before putting the schedule into his hand. Clint gave her an apologetic smile.  
“Oh cool,” he said in a voice that said anything but, “You have science with me and Bruce. Nothing with these guys,” he said gesturing vaguely to the blondes, “But you wouldn’t unless you’re a sports nut. I think the only normal classes they do are so they can graduate.” He looked at her over his sunglasses. “They don’t get to play college football unless they have a good GPA.”  
Football. She should have guessed.  
He scanned through the printed timetable. “Maths, Science, English … how many languages are you doing, Jesus?”  
“Four,” she said with a sheepish grin. “Spanish, French, Mandarin and Italian. I travel,” she explained.  
“That why you’re here?” Steve asked suddenly. She frowned.  
“What do you mean?”  
“You don’t know what you’re here for?” He said, mimicking her confused expression.  
“Well everyone’s here for something, right?” She tilted her head inquisitively. “I mean Tony and Bruce are like, geniuses. Robotics, chemistry, engineering-“  
A genius Tony who does engineering? “Wait, are you Tony Stark?” She interrupted, pointing a finger at Tony. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard the name; maybe in a paper or on the news. He was rich, and famous. And every bit as good as his dad, who’s name she couldn’t place…  
“The one and only, princess,” he replied listlessly.  
Howard, that’s it.  
“Wow, ok.” She said to herself, then turning back to Steve.  
“Sorry, carry on.”  
He blushed. “It’s ok. Right, so geniuses. Then you’ve got Thor, he’s like, a world-champion gym nut. Coach reckons he could be at the Olympics for weight lifting or something soon. I do track and boxing.” The pink returned to his cheeks as he explained, “Best in the country for boxing, best in the state for track. And then Clint-”  
“He’s a ballerina,” said Tony, laughing at himself – which she guessed he did a lot.  
“Hey fuck you man,” Clint replied gruffly. “I do gymnastics and athletics. And I’m damn good at both,” he said, more to Tony than to Natasha.  
“Don’t forget archery,” piped Bruce. He seemed like the sort of person everybody forgot was there until he contributed to the conversation like that. None the less, Natasha liked him. “That’s like, the biggest one.” Clint didn’t say anything.  
It was Thor who decided to explain, and Natasha almost jumped when he spoke; his voice was so loud and deep, she wondered if he was actually a 25 year old man in disguise. That would explain the crazy height and muscles.  
Either that or he hit puberty at four.  
“If Steve thinks I could make Olympics for weights then it’s nothing compared to Clint. At the state finals he hit a bullseye from about 30 metres back. And easily. I think everybody else threw down their bows at that point in the competition,” he boomed. But with a smile, like he was proud; Thor seemed like a nice guy. They all did. Well, except for-  
“Robin Hood in a tutu,”  
“Shut the fuck up Tony!” Clint pounced on Tony and grabbed his glasses, dangling them above him, to the exasperated short man who cried, “Those are Armani!” as everybody watched bemusedly. Natasha giggled, and after about 10 minutes they calmed down. “It actually sounds pretty cool,” she pointed out as Tony brushed himself off and stuck his tongue out at Clint. “I do gymnastics too. I started when I was a little girl in Russia. The training’s brutal but I guess I’m alright now. But I don’t remember being selected or anything for this school.”  
They all exchanged a questioning glance that made her feel left out for a second.  
“Yeah, it’s weird,” Clint agreed. “Your dad probably got a letter and didn’t say. You said he moves you around heaps so maybe he didn’t want to… I don’t know, get your hopes up?” She shrugged. “But hey, you should join Gym. It’s great fun and if it’s what you got chosen for, they’ll ask you anyway, eventually.”  
Could be alright. “Yeah, I’ll see.” Tony let his hands go limp at the wrist and fluttered his eyelashes and Clint slapped him. Natasha flipped out her phone, groaning and saying to Clint, “We’ve got five minutes. Where’s Humanities?”  
He frowned. “I block, we have to cross campus. Shit, we should get going.”

Bruce looked at Tony with a small smile and seemingly understanding what he was trying to convey, Tony turned to Clint, saying, “And since when do you go to class?”  
“I’m a bit behind,” Clint replied too quickly. “Can’t hurt.”  
“Sure,” Tony droned. Everybody looked at Clint. Bruce, being the sweetheart he was, broke the awkward silence with, “You have Science in third Natasha. We’ll see you then.” She smiled gratefully and he looked bashful. “Yeah see you then. Bye guys. Nice to meet you,” she added, before looking at Tony and frowning. He put his hand over his heart in mock offense.  
“Let’s go Clint.”  
“So what’d you think?”  
“They’re all nice, really nice.”  
Clint laughed. “You get used to Tony. He’s actually pretty mad. Plus his dad’s never home so he throws all the good parties; pays to be friends with him.”  
“I figured there was something that kept you around,” she teased, and he grinned.  
“Nah, he can be nice. Well, more so when it comes to Pepper and Bruce, but he’s not a complete ass.”  
“Pepper?” She asked,  
“Oh yeah, she’s in the year above. A senior. And he’s completely in love with her, which is weird for two reasons. The first being that he’s a complete player, and the second being that we all figured him and Bruce were already together.” Natasha realised it was a joke and chuckled, but admitted inwardly that she wouldn’t have been surprised if it wasn’t. “Why does Bruce hang out with you guys? I mean, no offense, but he just seems so quiet.”  
‘Yeah, I don’t know. We’ve sort of all been friends for so long. But you know, he has a wild temper.” She raised an eyebrow. “I know right? You wouldn’t expect it, but boy, you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”  
“Huh. Guess I’ll stay on his good side then,” she replied.  
“You will,” Clint assured her. “They all love you. Tony especially,” he added, and was that… a hint of jealousy she caught in his tone? Probably not.  
“I think he thinks you’re strong-willed. Make sure to sass him a few times. He’ll love and so will we, so it’s win-win.”  
“I’ll keep it in mind,” she laughed. “I hope I can get used to being the only girl. I don’t want to like, drown in testosterone or something.”  
“Bruce is shy and giggly, Steve blushes at the drop of a hat and Tony’s ambiguous about his sexuality. I doubt you’ll have a problem with testosterone.”  
Suddenly, somebody stepped directly in front of them. Natasha noticed because she walked directly into him, about to mumble an apology before it caught in her throat as she glanced up.  
He wall tall; about the same height as Steve and Thor or maybe a few inches taller, and she wondered if the school was breeding super-humans or something. She felt like a midget compared to the average male specimen.  
The tall boy was incredibly skinny but with notable muscle tone and he held a pale, white hand out to Natasha, long, elegant fingers splayed in wait of a handshake. “You must be the new girl,” he purred, his voice smooth and elegant and calm in a way that was slightly sinister. She looked up at him, which took a while because when she glanced at his face he was taller than she’d thought. And thinner; he had hollowed out cheekbones and his eyes, green and twinkling, were sunken. Black hair fell in strands across his forehead. When he smiled at her, he tilted his head so he was looking out from under his eyelashes and everything felt a bit… off.  
Definitely sinister.  
“Uh, yeah,” she mumbled, shaking his hand. He raised a jet-black eyebrow and turned to glare at Clint. “I see you’ve re-joined the educational system with heart,” he said. His vocabulary suited his accent; she guessed he was intelligent. Articulate, too. And no doubt he was good-looking; not in the traditional sense like Clint or Steve, but eerily so and almost… beautiful? But like her earlier thought, it was off.  
To be frank, he gave her the creeps.  
“Go away Loki,” Clint growled, staring him down – or up, she supposed. Loki glanced at him; looking nothing more than bored, let alone threatened, and slowly turned, stepped out of their way and stalked past them.  
Weird, she thought.  
Clint shuddered.  
“Who the hell was that,” Natasha whispered as they began to walk again.  
“Loki. Thor’s brother,” he explained, and she raised her eyebrows at him. “I know right? I have no idea. He’s a major creep. Sits by himself and doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. And he sneaks up on you like that, all greasy and… ugh.”  
“I can’t believe they’re related,” she mused aloud.  
“I think he’s adopted,” Clint said, frowning. “Thor doesn’t talk about him. They have this really complicated relationship.” And then with a sour grimace and a chuckle, “I remember back when he tried to get him to sit with us. Creepiest week of my life. I think he really wants to help him, but I don’t know why.” He looked back to where Loki had come from, and she could have put money on the fact he’d already disappeared from sight despite the fact that unless he was sprinting, he had a whole stretch of corridor to walk before he could turn a corner. Creepy was the right word. “Gives him too much credit.”  
She frowned. “Jesus. Guess I’ll avoid him.”  
Clint grinned, his shoulders dropping, relaxing slightly. “You’ll be alright,” he said. “I’ll look after you.” He winked at her and puffed out his chest dramatically. She laughed and shoved him, saying “You’re actually an idiot,” between giggles. “Come on, we’ll be late.”


	3. Chapter 3

Humanities was a breeze; Natasha and Clint managed to come to a compromise in which she convinced him to do some work and he convinced her to loosen up a bit, which led to a half-finished task sheet and an hour of giggling in the back row. Luckily, her humanities teacher was fun, and not in the trying-to-be-hip sense but in the sense that she knew she could look forward to the class. Vowing to catch up on classwork at home because history was something she could do, and enjoyed on top, it was gingerly that she walked to Science, giving Clint a small parting wave and smile which quickly disappeared as she padded down the hall to the science block. She’d yet to decide what she made of Tony and Bruce; not only were they polar opposites, but startling extremes of the personality scale.  
Bruce was already outside the classroom with five minutes to go, which she could have guessed. Just like she could have guessed Tony wouldn’t be there until they were seated and ready to go, and with a sigh she almost tiptoed over to Bruce. He peered over the edge of a book he was reading and looked at her. “Hey.”  
“Hi Bruce,” she replied. He ducked back behind the book. He always seemed to have his face buried in some kind of text, and she decided that conversation was futile, putting her bag by her feet and leaning against the lockers that were aligned with the outside wall of the classroom. Nobody paid her any attention; Bruce read and a few others glared at her, but knowing high school gossip everybody was already aware she was ‘the new chick’. She started to wish Clint took Science.  
Surprisingly, Tony showed before the teacher. When she said he flounced towards them, she meant it in every literal sense. He had this cocky strut mixed with the posture of an egomaniac and somebody who knows they’re good looking. He attacked Bruce from behind, jumping on his back and gripping him around the neck in a death-grip kind of strange hug; Natasha expected Bruce to fluster, but he seemed okay, and even laughed slightly. Tony hopped down, gave Natasha a mock-salute and wink, saying “What’s cooking good-looking,” to which he received an icy glare. “Ouch.”  
“Ugh,” she muttered, loud enough to be heard. He just laughed and clamped an arm around Bruce’s shoulder. “We’re your science buddies now Nat! I’m gonna call you Nat, okay?” Her look said everything but. “Great. Plus, it pays to be our friends when it comes to assignments and boring shit like that. You should feel privileged.” She raised an eyebrow.  
“You should feel my foot up your ass,” she said. Tony looked at her for a moment, suddenly grinning and letting go of Bruce to give her what had to be the world’s most unrequited hug. “Oh yeah, we’re gonna be friends Nat.” She sighed. Fun.

When the teacher arrived, she and Bruce shuffled into the classroom behind Tony who strode over to a lab bench one from the back, sitting in the middle of three chairs and gesturing for them to do the same. Science was never Natasha’s strong suite, and she struggled so much trying to understand phrases like ionic bond that eventually, she had inhumanely murder her pride and turn to her science buddies for help. As much as she would have preferred the socially inept Bruce on the other end of the bench, Tony had graciously placed himself between the two. “I don’t get any of this. Do you get this?” She whispered. He ripped the textbook from her hands and glanced over the work. “Ionic bonds.” She said. “Haven’t you been listening?”  
Not looking at her, he simply replied, “I don’t have to,” before placing the book back in front of her and leaning over with a pen in hand. “Okay, so ionic bonds. You’ve got your two oppositely charged ions, and your bond is when…”  
She listened intently to the simplified lecture, struggling to keep up the vocabulary but understanding a lot more all the same. After about 3 minutes, he handed her the pen and gave her a small smile. Trying not to look confused – and more about the fact that he was helping her than anything to do with chemical bonds – she smiled back.  
“Thanks Tony.”  
“Now it’s your turn.”  
She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”  
He rolled his eyes. “Information for information,” he said as if she were an idiot for not understanding. “I helped you out, and now you can answer some questions.” Racking her brain for anything she could possibly know more about than Tony Stark – besides people skills and gymnastics, both of which she guessed he didn’t care about – she waved her hands at him in a ‘go on’ gesture. “What do you mean?”  
“You and Barton,” he stated with an evil glint in his eyes. She groaned.   
“And?”  
“And? You’ve known him for half a day and you’re already all giggly. You have inside jokes. He’s going to class. What’s happening, did you poison him or something?” he demanded. She shook her head and scowled. “We’re just friends.”  
Bruce spun around to give her an apprehensive look while Tony put his hands together in mock prayer, pretending to draw a cross against his forehead with a finger as he whispered, “And a moment for a fallen soldier.” She punched him lightly on the shoulder. He pouted and rubbed his arm.   
“Drama queen.”  
“Ice queen. Just friends, ey?”  
“Leave it. I don’t mean like that. Like you said, I barely know him,” she snapped.  
“Sorry mom.” She threw him another glare  
He winked, and turned back to Bruce, muttering to him “Boy, if looks could kill,” and not warranting a response. She guessed that Bruce’s ability to tune out the annoying stuff was what made them friends. They appeared to be sketching something on a notepad together that looked like blueprints, complete with notes and citations. And it looked like it had nothing to do with chemistry.

“I don’t care,” she assured herself, quietly in case anybody thought she was a mental asylum escapee. She turned back to her work and stared to take notes from the board at the point she’d left off at. Thanks to Tony, now she couldn’t help but wonder.  
Were they just friends? She’d just said it to throw Tony off. And maybe she did like him as more – maybe she couldn’t help it when he was the only person who made her feel safe. All she knew was that she clicked. And she didn’t have English or Humanities again until Wednesday.   
She didn’t speak to Tony or Bruce again until the bell rang, and they walked three abreast down the corridor and back to the group’s rendezvous.   
“I’m having a party,” Tony said, leaning over to her as they walked. “You should come.” And then, because he clearly had the impulse control of a five year old in front of a cookie jar, “Clint’ll be there, promise.”   
“Where at?” She replied, ignoring his little dig.  
“My place,” he said, handing her his phone. “Put in your contact details and I’ll text you the address. Friday, six o’clock. Until whenever. Sleep over if you want.” He took in her appalled expression. “Not like that you idiot. Stop looking at me like a perv. Steve and Bruce are staying over because they can’t go home trashed; they have really strict parents.” Bruce gave her a sheepish smile. “If yours are the same I’ll set you up a bed in the living room or you can just crash on the couch.” She relaxed slightly and handed him back his top-of-the-line phone complete with ‘Natasha Romanoff’ as his newest contact. “Ok,” she said slowly. “Text me. Could be good.”  
“Could be? Baby, it’s a Stark party. It’ll be fantastic.” He grinned.  
They meandered over to the table and Natasha walked over to Clint. He was sitting next to Steve, and Thor was… well, pre-occupied.   
“Thor, we agreed on no P.D.A,” Tony barked, startling the massive blond who detached himself begrudgingly from the mouth of a brunette Natasha had seen before. She blushed and stepped slightly away from him, perching on a bench next to Thor. She glanced at Natasha. “Have I seen you around?”  
“Yeah,” Natasha replied with a quick smile. “I think I bumped into you in the office this morning.”  
The brunette tapped her head, exclaiming, “That’s it! Sorry I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Jane Foster.”  
“Natasha Romanoff. I’m new.”  
“I heard,” she replied. Her voice was kind; she even looked nice, as strange as it sounded. She was pretty in a modest way, with clear skin and long, shiny brunette hair that hung in straight locks over her face in a way that suggested she was somewhat shy. “How are you going, new school and everything?”  
“Fine, good. Yeah, it’s good,” Natasha said, nodding.  
“I’m good too,” said a voice from behind Natasha that startled her. “If anyone was wondering.” Natasha spun around. A petite girl with mousey curls and glasses stuck her hand out. “I’m Darcy.”  
They shook hands. “And I thought I was the only girl here.”  
She laughed, which made her nose crinkle up. Her laugh was the snorty, infectious kind that made even Natasha smile. She could have sworn even Bruce cracked a grin, and wondered if the way he was staring at Darcy implied what she was thinking. Her style of dress suggested she was Bruce’s type – maybe nerdy, but in a cute way. Nerd chic, Natasha thought to herself. Her boisterous laughter and general personality suggested she might be a bit too much for him. Then again, he was friends with Tony.  
“We don’t usually hang out with these sorry cases,” she said with a wink. “But we heard Tony was having a party. And Jane’s mouth was feeling particularly slobber-free.” Jane glared at Darcy.  
“It’s more of a small gathering,” interrupted Tony. “Just the few of us. Do you even remember what happened last time I had a party?”  
“Nobody will ever forget what happened last time you had a party!” Darcy said, laughing again. Natasha laughed despite feeling like she was being left out from a particularly funny joke. They all looked at Steve, who hid his head in his hands.  
“Anyway,” Jane said. “We won’t invite anyone else. Plus I feel bad for Natasha with all you men around. She deserves female company.” Natasha flashed Jane an appreciative smile.  
“Fine!” said Tony, throwing himself atop the table and pushing Steve to the side slightly. He didn’t seem annoyed; Natasha had come to learn that when Tony wanted something, nobody bothered to stop him. It was how everything worked.  
“So we’ll see you on Friday, Tony?” Darcy asked.  
“Be there or be square.”  
Natasha started talking to Clint when she noticed something. Out the corner of her eye – Loki was watching them, from a corner of the English block, hidden slightly by shade. Not entirely- something about him just made it easy not to notice he was there. Despite the fact that it was a cloudy day; grey, bordering on rain, his eyes still managed to glisten. In a way that meant that even she could see the glint in his eye as he watched them speak, a glint that was… what? Angry? Sad? It was the only thing that betrayed his otherwise unreadable expression.

She shuddered slightly and turned back to Clint. “Loki’s watching us,”   
“He’s a creep,” Clint agreed.  
“Hey!” Thor objected from the other side of the table. “Do not speak of my brother like that.”  
“Sorry Thor.”  
Thor and Jane took off with Darcy in tow, and Tony and Bruce were fixated on what they’d been doing in Science. Steve sat awkwardly between the two groups.  
“How come Thor talks like that?” Natasha said casually. “Like, so formally?”  
“He’s from Norway,” Steve said before Clint could reply. “Transferred a few years ago. Loki too. I guess their English is just like that.”  
“Huh.”   
Steve turned to Clint. “Hey Clint, track finals are coming up and I was wondering…”

Natasha looked back to where Loki had been sitting. She didn’t need to though- something in her gut already knew he would be gone. A glance confirmed that. Strange.  
“So you’re going to Tony’s”  
“Sorry?” She looked back at Clint. “Oh, yeah. You?”  
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said with a crooked smile.   
Steve frowned and put his phone away. “I should get to class.”  
“Why, you only do health and physical. Isn’t every class just the same with a different teacher?” Clint pointed out. Steve shook his head eagerly. “Nope! I’m doing maths. Coach said I have to if I’m playing college.”  
“Good on you Steve,” Clint said with a laugh, patting him on the back. For a moment, Natasha couldn’t help but see it as Clint patting a Labrador, in the way Steve was being all blond and smiley, and she giggled. The both looked at her.  
“I should go too,” she said, clearing her throat. “Italian. Where’s H block?”  
Clint pointed vaguely at an off-grey building. “Right there.” He saw her looking at him. “What, me? Ugh, I have Drama. I wouldn’t go if you held me at gunpoint.”  
She waggled a finger at him in almost-mock disapproval. “Fine. See you tomorrow. Bye Steve.”  
“See ya.”   
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Sorry for the non-eventful chapter guys! But I promise it’s a build-up. Leave reviews 


	4. Chapter 4

In the week leading up to Tony’s party, two things happened that made Natasha sure.  
They were small, but they were enough.  
The first time she was in Humanities with Clint and they were watching a documentary about the indo-china war on the projector which meant the lights were off. They were sitting at the back.  
Clint wasn’t an avid learner, but loathe he was to admit she knew he found what they were doing interesting. The way conversation had slowly trickled off as the teacher dimmed the lights; the way he leant forward slightly in his chair and watched with a subtle sparkle in his eye made Natasha proud. She didn’t bother him; it was endearing to see him find something inside a classroom that fascinated him; so much that instead of watching the film she was watching him, almost a studying gaze born from pure curiosity and wonderment at the way his lips parted slightly and his forehead creased just a bit at the images that danced across the screen. He was far more interesting than any movie.  
“It’s sad.”  
She shook herself from the daze and hoped he hadn’t caught her staring. “Pardon?”  
“It’s sad,” he whispered, leaning closer to her. “All those people and for what?”  
In the brief time he’d known him, she’d come to grow custom to the brief but deep moments of philosophy and emotion he came out with, rough against his usually warm personality but comforting in the fact that she was assured he had another layer.  
She frowned and looked at him. He cleared his throat in a way that dared her to ask if there was really sheen of moisture threatening to spill across his cheek that suggested he had emotions rooted deeper than some documentary. “War is always sad,” she agreed. “I should know, my family are Russian. But’s it the way humanity is.”  
“Why would anybody be a part of that?” He asked, looking at her as if she had some monumental answer for the whole of mankind that would fix whatever problem he had. But she didn’t know what to say.   
“They’re just doing their jobs.”  
The second time was personal in a different way that was still as absolutely reassuring that there was something about Clint. It was really a simple gesture; English, that time, and she needed a pen so she leant across Clint to borrow one of his. Her arm brushed his, and although the contact was brief, she was sure she could feel him shiver, and had to repress one herself. It was if energy was jumping from his skin in small, non-lethal sparks. Well, possibly lethal.   
“Sorry,” she mumbled. He gave her a tight smile and hurriedly avoided any kind of contact with her for the following 45 minutes.  
Aside from those two classes that broke up her week, nothing else really occurred in the lead-up until the party – which Tony desperately assured them was just a small get-together as everybody found out and invited themselves to the point where the entirety of the junior cohort, two dozen seniors and a handful of sneaky sophomores were in attendance. She enjoyed Humanities and English, and she went from bearing Science to embracing it, simply because she decided that after so many hours in Tony Stark’s company you decided whether you hated him or appreciated his quirky nature. She chose the latter.  
Any other class was insignificant; she was passing most subjects, excelling in some and only struggling in Maths. School life seemed to be pretty consistent throughout each one she’d been to, bar the fact that here, she had friends. Clint first and foremost, followed by Bruce simply because he was so sweet and Tony, surprisingly, because albeit being a major asshole, he was fun, smart and her match when it came to sass. Steve was nice, and almost too so, but she was still friends with him, and when Thor wasn’t licking spit off of Jane Foster’s tonsils, he was as equally lovely. Jane and Darcy quickly became the only girl friends she had; but it wasn’t because they were the only non-males willing to talk to her. They were generally nice, and Darcy had a sharp tongue that kept things both interesting and hilarious when Jane was being particularly girl-next door. Natasha preferred Darcy for the same reason she was surprisingly close to Tony – she realised that she needed friends who were as equally accepting of the fact that slagging somebody off could be as much of a show of friendship as anything. It was one of many quirks she wasn’t aware she had, but was grateful her new friends were able to bring to the surface.  
It was strange, being accepted, let alone appreciated, by this many people. Not to say Natasha had never had friends before, but after the first move she took to putting up a barrier between herself and the people around her. She’d assumed it was the only way to survive until graduation, but looking back she mused sadly if she’d been denying herself anything. Then again, in hindsight her previous student bodies had been much less interesting people: too conformed to stereotype, too vague and sheltered and shallow and not particularly jumping out of their seats to be friends with somebody as obscure as Natasha. The only looks she got were leers from the less educated males, which another girl might have felt good about. She thought it was disgusting. But there seemed to be less of those types now; the fact that everybody was here on some kind of strange merit apparently made them generally more advanced human beings by definition. Not that she had a problem with that.  
When she walked into school on Friday morning there was a definite buzz, because she’d come to learn that Tony Stark’s parties went down in history and despite the shattered attempts to keep the guest list small, nobody planned on missing it. She thought she remembered Tony complaining about actually having to have a guest list to make sure nobody from the south side turned up and caused trouble. Rivalry between schools wasn’t something alien to her, but it was particularly avid between their school and the one located on the other side of the river. Childish? Yes. Amusing? Without a doubt. “I swear,” he’d said gruffly, “This is already out of hand with those Southside dicks turning up. I think I’m gonna hire a bouncer to make sure they don’t try anything.” He gripped Bruce and shook him by the shoulders, wide-eyed and pure entertain in the midst of his breakdown. “Look at me Brucey! I love parties! Especially my own! What is happening?”  
She remembered with a smile on her face that Science was her second class on a Wednesday and that she could see Tony again in all his unstable glory; and then with a bigger one that English was her first and content that Fridays were a good day, she strutted into class and plopped herself down in her usual spot next to Clint. Who, for the first time, was there before her.  
“Hey!” he said with a grin. She waggled her fingers and tucked a strand of fiery hair behind her ear, slowly regretting leaving it out.  
“I like it like that,” Clint stated. “When it’s out. Looks good, like a wall of fire or something.” She laughed. “Thanks weirdo.” Maybe not such a bad idea.   
Natasha noted that the way he looked at her; crooked smile and sparkling eyes and all, was nothing like the leers that set her hairs on end. No, the way Clint looked at her made her need to use all those cheesy descriptions from awful, gooey romance novels like warm on the inside and butterflies in her stomach. He leant across and they compared homework as Mr Bryant shuffled in looking depressed as ever. Clint was getting better; his sentence structure was improved, his vocabulary was more extensive. “Lord Clint, I might actually be rubbing off on you,” she murmured as she bent over his work. “Rub on me anytime baby,” he replied, quick as ever, with a wink. She hit him gently.  
“I’m being serious, this is good.” Another lopsided smile that she’d come to associate with him.   
“Thanks Tash.”

Mr Bryant turned to the whiteboard with a marker in hand and Natasha noted that he was balder than normal. And grumpier. Maybe the two were interlinked.  
“And if you clothed monkeys will turn your limited attention to the board for just a moment, you’ll see that I’ve listed the five most effective methods of persuasion for the large majority of you that neglected the set work. Number one is a sense of urgency.” He sighed and spun back around. He looked tired; dark grey bags hung from each eyes and day-old stubble clung to his jaw. Natasha was surprised at how interesting it was to watch her teacher’s fall into mental instability. “Barton,” he barked suddenly. Clint blinked and raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”  
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Describe to me the first method of persuasion,” he said, tapping the board with his finger. Natasha glanced at Clint, feeling her heart sink at the probability that he was going to embarrass himself. Mr Bryant was having a really bad day.  
“A sense of urgency… that’s when you encourage people to take, uh, immediate action. Like,” he paused. “Polar bears are dying now, so like, stop global warming. Or like they do in ads. Limited time only.” He stopped and looked at the teacher who was watching him with an apprehensive but partly unreadable expression. “Or something.”  
Natasha frowned, but smiled. It must have been a strange expression. “Nice,” she whispered as he sat back down, slightly red in the face because she knew he didn’t like speaking in front of people.   
“Eloquently put,” the teacher droned sardonically. “But yes, good job Barton.” It almost sounded like a question. Good job Barton? What just happened?  
He’s smart, that’s what happened, she thought, feeling like sticking her tongue out at the teacher because even though it was something a five year old – or Tony – would do, Clint absolutely just proved himself and Mr Bryant was too wrapped up in his mid-life crisis slash mental breakdown to notice. But Clint didn’t seem to mind, and she decided to let it go and just be proud of him. In a funny way, she felt like a mother. Which led to an unnecessary image of Clint in a nappy, which led to an abrupt giggle that she covered with a cough. She was far too imaginative for her own good.

For the first time, she skipped happily to Science after saying a quick goodbye to Clint, completely eager to see Tony panicking and equally eager to discuss the party. If she was honest, she couldn’t wait for her first slice of socialization in a few years. A voice in the back of her mind – small, repressed, but still ringing clear through every waking thought in the way a triangle can through an entire orchestra, reminded her it was too good to be true. That soon enough, the company would call and she would leave again and no other school would be as good because that was how life worked. She refused to pay attention because she wasn’t ready to deal with that, and didn’t want to until it happened.  
“Bruce,” she called out gleefully, waiting for him to nervously peek out from his latest novel – The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – over his shoulder, around the corridor and then finally come to rest on her, relaxing a considerable amount and either saying “Oh, hey,” or just smiling. Watching him stop reading was fascinating: it was as if no matter how many times she said hello, each time she was pulling him from one of his fantasy worlds and each time he was as equally surprised at the harsh extraction from his book to real life. He looked like he was searching for the person who’d so rudely interrupted his alternate reality and dragged him back to Earth until he realised that it was just Natasha saying hello like normal people do. He was so odd and being able to relate to that, Natasha found him endearing. Even more so when, for the first time, he tucked the book back into his bag and turned to face her.  
“Good read?” she asked, pointing at his backpack.  
“Great read,” he replied with a proper ear-to-ear grin. And it must have been because she’d never seen him so animated or confident in his life, and she hoped for his sake that whatever rush he’d gotten from his book lasted a while. He was so much more enthralling like this.  
“Hey, that’s great. You’re going to Tony’s tonight, right?”  
He grimaced. “Yeah. I mean, people…” Natasha nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. “There’s going to be so many. But yeah, he made me promise. You still coming?”  
“You bet.” He smiled again and his features softened.  
“Cool. Clint will be happy.”  
She pretended to be shocked. “Not you too, Bruce. You spend way too much time with Tony.” A sheepish smile on his part and a slight head tilt that said but it’s true.  
“By the way, where is he?”   
Bruce opened his mouth, but almost in reply Tony came strutting – yes, strutting – down the hallway before he could speak. He reached them, smiled briefly, and kept walking. “Tony!” she yelled. “The fuck? Where’re you going?”  
He groaned, spun on his heel and took a few steps back towards them. “No Science today.”  
Bruce actually pouted, which would have been funny if she wasn’t so annoyed. “Why not?”  
He pointed down the corridor to a girl walking a few paces in front of him. “Pepper said to meet me outside. I don’t know what she wants to talk about, but she looked happy. Plus, we never talk,” he said. And then with a devilish grin, “Should be good. Sorry guys, but hot senior takes the card from equally hot science buddies today. Lots of love,” he called over his shoulder and he trotted after the tall, thin strawberry blond.   
They stood for a moment, almost in shock. “Well he’s easy to convince,” Natasha said to Bruce.  
“That’s Tony,” he replied with a thin smile.   
At lunch, Tony was still absent. Steve looked upset, and Bruce just looked worried. Natasha couldn’t tell what Thor looked like when he was so entangled in Jane. It was a disturbing sight that she was going to have to get used to if she ever wanted to eat lunch again.  
A chorus of beeps and tones caused them all to share a similar confused look until they all came to simultaneous realisation and pulled their various phones from their pockets.   
“It just says brilliant,” Steve said, perplexed.  
“From Tony?” Bruce mumbled without looking up from his phone – was it Stark technology? Natasha guessed it would be easy enough for Tony to hook him up.  
“Yeah.”  
“Weird,” she murmured, slipping hers back into her pocket.   
Steve shrugged. “He’ll probably say something at the party tonight.”

Darcy literally jumped out of her chair – Natasha hadn’t realised she been there and noticed her with a pang of guilt. “That reminds me!” she cried. “Natasha!”   
Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”  
“We have to get ready together. Jane bailed on me. Like, it’s not because you’re second choice or anything, because we were totally going to invite you anyway. You’re cool. But now you really need to come to mine after school so I don’t leave the house looking like a total dork and I can arrive with somebody.” Darcy stopped as if catching up with everything she’d just said and then looked at Natasha expectantly.  
“Ok,” she replied slowly. “I kind of promised Clint I’d go with him.” She glanced at him.  
Darcy rolled her eyes and gripped Natasha’s arm. “Clint can pick us up from mine, right Clint?” He shrugged. “I guess.”  
“Yeah, cool,” Natasha said, flashing him an apologetic look. He smiled.  
“Fab!” Darcy replied too loudly, as per usual. What’s you last class?”  
“Spanish.”  
“Great, so H block. I’ll meet you there.” She grinned. Her smile was as big as her personality. For a girl so short, there was a lot in there.  
“Sounds good.”  
“Adiós a los estudiantes.”  
“Adiós señorita.”   
Natasha followed the herd of students out of the door and into the courtyard, where she saw an overly-animated Darcy waving manically in her direction. She returned the wave and walked over, giving her a small hug. She couldn’t decide if she was happier about the fact that it was Friday or the fact that the party was this evening. “Excited Darcy?”  
“You bet,” she replied with a grin. “Right, so we’ll have to get the bus to mine. This way,” she said, grabbing Natasha’s wrist and almost pulling off her arm as she dragged her away from school and towards the gates. “Clint will pick us up from mine at 6 because we don’t want to be early. We’ll arrive at like, half past. Okay?” Natasha grinned and nodded as they walked down the street to a bus stop, hopping on one that read ‘115’ as it pulled up just in time. “Oh, this is us,” Darcy said as they clambered onto the bus, flashing their season passes at the driver and walking down to the back where they stole two seats from the farthest row.   
Darcy’s uncanny ability to speak a thousand words a minute cancelled out any possibility of awkward silence, and Natasha was happy to just let her talk, filling in any gaps with meaningless replies like “I know, right,” and “That’s so true.” It was only about twenty minutes until Darcy pulled her – again – from her seat as they reached the stop. Natasha muttered a thanks to the driver and stepped out, following Darcy about one block down until she turned right into a small street and trotted to her house. It was about the fifth down the street, and nothing special – perhaps upper-middle class in appearance.   
“And this,” Darcy said as she threw the door open – covered in posters, the third on the floor, “Is my room.” She threw her bag on the ground and dived onto the bed. Natasha ran a finger gingerly along the dresser that lay against the wall, its top layered with trinkets and souvenirs. She picked up a snow glob and shook it, watching the small flakes settle on the microscopic representation of ‘L’Arc de Triomphe’ “These are so cool,” she said. “Do you travel?”  
Darcy shook her head and frowned. “My aunt does, she sends me most of that stuff. I mean, I’d like to. But nah.” Natasha pouted.  
“That’s a shame. I travel, it’s fun. When we graduate we should like, go round Europe or something together,” she mused. She knew it was dangerous to plan for the future knowing full-well that she’d probably never see these people again. But she was allowed to dream. “Paris is amazing. And Venice, Rome, Amsterdam, Munich. It’s so cool.” Darcy looked wistful and slightly in awe.  
“Sounds like a plan.” She sat up straight. “So, what clothes did you bring?” Natasha pointed to a small bag that lay on the floor besides the one she used for school. “Not showing you yet,” she said with an evil wink. “Awe man!” Darcy cried. “Fine, we’re getting ready now then.” Before Natasha could argue she trotted over to her wardrobe and grabbed a pile of clothes from the rack, slinking into an ensuite bathroom. “Tell me when you’re ready. I’m getting changed in here,” she called as she closed the door behind her. “We can do make-up in a second.”  
“O…kay.” Natasha bent down and rummaged through the contents of her back to pull out the dress she’d bought the other day and the pair of heels that went with it. Twenty minutes of fighting with the clingy but flattering material and she finally managed to pull it over her head, noting gladly that she was lucky to have not done her hair yet, and down to where it fell just above the knees. The black, velvety material clung in the right places – made her waist look slightly smaller and complimented her thighs; but without making her look cheap. No cleavage and less butt, because it was a compromise she had to make if she wanted to look classy and… well, make Clint feel the same way. The dress was perfect.  
Bar one thing.  
“Darc, ya done?” She yelled as she desperately tried to spin around and do up the back of the dress. “I can’t zip it up.”  
“Sure thing,” came the reply as the bathroom door swung open. Darcy wore a floaty midriff matched with a patterned skirt and a pair of wedges. The skirt hung low enough to show an adorable belly button ring that hung from her navel, high enough to protect her modesty. They both had a similar objective. “Oh Darcy,” Natasha sighed. “You look amazing.”  
Darcy scoffed. “Shut up, I think my self-esteem just died on its ass.” She gestured to Natasha, who shook her head feverishly. “No, no, be quiet and help me zip up. You look great Darcy.”  
“You too,” she said with a smile as she stepped behind Natasha and zipped her up in one fluid motion. “You make it look easy,” Natasha said with a laugh.  
They walked into the ensuite together and helped each other with make-up and hair – Natasha curling Darcy’s and deciding to let her own do its own thing, remembering what Clint had said in English. “Hot to trot,” Darcy said with an authoritive nod as a honk from outside the second story window startled them. “And that will be Clint.”  
Natasha leaned out the window and waved. He honked again.  
“Okay, impatient,” she muttered to herself. Darcy giggled.  
“Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

“He- Jesus.”  
“Problem Clint?”  
“You uh… you look nice Tash. You too, Darcy.”  
“Thanks,” Natasha said with a coy smirk. “Shotgun!” She hopped into care next to Clint, leaving Darcy to clamber into the back with a face like thunder. “You can’t call Shotgun, we’re almost seniors.”  
“Shut up Darcy, you just wish you’d thought of it. Can I put the radio on?” She asked, turning to Clint who nodded without taking his eyes off the road. She flicked through the channels- all mainstream, not particularly good. With a sigh she left it on 107.7, buzzing some inane tune while she hoped that the music at the party was good. If she was lucky, Tony had some taste.

“Dear lord, are we going to be early?” Darcy groaned as they turned a corner and Natasha could distinctly hear music, even though it sounded a few blocks down.   
“All you do is moan Darcy,” she said pointedly.  
“Nah, sounds like it’s already started,” Clint replied, ignoring Natasha. “Tony usually gets it up and running pretty fast, and we’re about half an hour late. Should be good.” They turned another corner, and Natasha couldn’t tell if the music was deafening of if they were close. “Is It usually this loud?”   
“Sounds pretty tame actually.” He didn’t sound like he was joking.  
When the houses began to slowly progress from upper middle-class to holy-shit-look-at-the-size-of-that-thing, Natasha had the feeling they were getting closer. A long road littered with mansions led them to an even longer private drive, the car bumping slightly along the gravel as they drove down the narrow path, between perfectly trimmed hedges.   
“Oh. My. God.”  
The house – the mansion, was perched precariously on top of a hill, a path to which was covered in palm trees like some Hollywood boulevard. It was maybe three stories – perhaps a fourth, but she couldn’t be sure – and seemed to match the surface area of the school and then some. It was modern, without a doubt, with archaic touches here and there, strewn throughout subtle hints of art-deco, resulting in one, big, eclectic hurricane of design that somehow worked.  
The house was beautiful, extravagant, amazing, but it wasn’t what surprised Natasha.

“And I had no idea this many people would turn up,” Clint said. “Where the hell does he expect me to park?”  
She was astounded she could even see the house through the swarm of students (some who looked old enough that Natasha decided she wouldn’t put it past Tony to have college friends); they plagued the front yard, almost spilling out of the doors and windows, pushing past each other and spilling drinks all around in lost attempts to move. “How the fuck are we supposed to find Tony?” she said with an exasperated groan. “Or for that matter, anyone?” Darcy shrugged.   
As if on cue Clint’s phone began to buzz, and he fumbled around inside his pocket for a moment.  
“Hello? Tony! Where are you?” He held up a finger at the girls. One minute. “Cool, hey, where do I park man? It’s packed. Sweet. Awesome, see ya.” He pressed a button, turning to Natasha and Darcy and explaining, “He left room in the garage for us, so if you want you guys can hop out and I’ll take it round back. Call me or Tony if you get lost, but we’ll probably find you soon. Got our numbers, right?” He added. They both nodded. “Great.”  
“Uh, sure.” Natasha pushed her door open and Darcy did the same. They trotted cautiously to the front door, dodging people all the way, ignoring wolf-whistles and derogatory calls from guys who had clearly had too much to drink already. But Natasha could handle it; stupid guys, she was fine with. “Come with me to find Jane,” Darcy said as they stepped through the threshold into the even more tightly-packed, even more extravagant, interior. It must have been a startling amount of respect – or perhaps fear for not being invited to the next party – that kept the vases on their podiums, the pictures on the walls and the kids well away from both. “Actually, I’m gonna go find Steve and Bruce,” she yelled over the music.   
“Oh, okay,” Darcy called back. “See you later!” She waved and disappeared into the folds of students with a smile. Now all Natasha had to do was somehow pluck her way through everyone. How she planned to do that she did-  
“Natasha!”   
Steve waved energetically from a corner in the room that he and Bruce had secured from the masses. There seemed to be some kind of respect for people who were actually his friends and not here because alcohol. “Oh sweet baby jesus,” she muttered to herself, practically running over and giving Steve a tight bear hug which made him blush (did he have any other reaction?) and doing the same to Bruce. “I’m so glad I found you guys! Can we all go meet up with Clint and Tony? I think Thor’s with Jane.”  
“Coarse,” said Bruce with a smug grin. “Gotta say, you look great Natasha.”   
“Thanks Bruce.”  
“Yeah,” agreed Steve. “And I think they’re all upstairs. Tony’s made it off bounds so we have somewhere to hang out when everybody gets hectic. We can go up and like, chill for a bit or come back down. Easy.”  
“Perfect,” she said clasping her hands together. “I’ll follow you.” She clasped a hand on Steve’s shoulder and followed him, both of them behind Bruce as they pushed through the mount of people who were getting slowly too drunk and too excited. She tried to ignore the feeling of being groped and put it down to just bumping into people. Suddenly, a wandering hand made its way very distinctly to her butt, accompanied by a wolf whistle. She froze.  
“Yeah that’s right sweet cheeks, you leave those clowns alone and come with me.”  
She felt Steve bristle. “It’s okay,” she whispered as he tried to turn around.   
“Come on! I’ll show you a good time!” Raucous laughter. “Turn on around sugartits!”  
“Natasha,” he said darkly, beginning to walk towards him.   
“He’s just an idiot!” She insisted.  
“Leave your faggoty friends alone. You’re missing out, baby.”  
Oh, that did it. She spun around in one fast, fluid motion, grasping the startled male’s wrist and twisting it sharply, behind and against his back before he had time to process, which took even longer than it would a sober person. She gave him a sharp push, hearing something click in his wrist. He whimpered, but Natasha knew it wasn’t fatal; jarred perhaps, sprained at worst. She leaned into him, arm in hold as the room fell silent. “Leave. Me. Alone.”  
A moment’s pause and he nodded feverishly.  
She let go and he whined again, cradling his arm and walking away, flushed and embarrassed with mutters like “crazy bitch.”  
Steve’s mouth formed a neat ‘o’ and Bruce raised his eyebrows. “I took martial arts,” she said simply. “I’ve lived in some rough place. Girl’s gotta know how to take care of herself. Now let’s go.”  
“Fair enough.”  
The upstairs had a completely different vibe, and she decided that Tony was actually a genius.   
“I just chuck some cheap booze and loud music downstairs to keep the clowns entertained. Here’s where it’s really happening guys,” he explained with a wink. They were engulfed in some sort of relaxing mood lighting, furniture placed around the centrepiece being the enormous bar behind which Tony had an assorted amount of alarmingly coloured drinks, shots already laid out on the bar. “And Darcy, Jane and Thor know about it, so they can wander up when they like. Pepper will later, which means I might have to leave you for a while.” He smirked. “And bedrooms are open, long as you don’t mess anything up.” He looked pointedly to Clint and then to Natasha, both who flushed a furious shade of beetroot. “So, uh, your text,” she said too quickly as Tony pissed himself laughing, “What did you mean? It just said ‘brilliant’.” He snapped his head up, eyes twinkling and clasped his hands together. “Yes! Yes, my friends I have excellent news.” He took a straight swig from a bottle of vodka. “You know that senior guy, with the weird name… Happy? Pepper was going out with him, right? Well, she came up to me-“ he pointed at Natasha and Bruce, “During science, that’s why I didn’t go – and said she needed to talk. So we went out to the courtyard, and to cut a long story short, she said she broke up with him because she wants to spend more time with me. And, she’s coming tonight.” He flashed them all a cocky grin. Clint smiled and slapped a hand against his back.   
“Yeah, good on you Tony,” said Bruce. Natasha just smiled.  
“How about some celebratory shots,” Tony declared rather than asked. “I forgot what I put in them, but they’re not roofied. They are strong, so bottom’s up guys.” He held his high in the air and waiting for everybody else to do the same. They clinked glasses, Tony saying, “To Pepper. And the prospect of me getting laid tonight. Oh yeah, and friends.”   
Natasha downed her glass, grimacing as the cool liquid burned her throat, leaving a slightly bitter aftertaste. Tony looked at her bemusedly. “If it burns, it’s good. But I have sweet stuff too.”  
“Is this all you do at parties?” She’d been to a few high school parties, but she was optimistic in that she hoped the answer would change.  
“Calm down grandma. This is how you start a party. Now shut up and drink this.” He slid a bright pink glass across the table, and she picked it up with a listless shrug.   
After a few more shots and liquids that just became one big blur of illegal drinking, Tony had the most original, fool-proof idea ever.  
“Spin the bottle,” he demanded, eyes alight with evil glee. “Nope, no arguing, give me that,” he said to Bruce, stealing the bottle of beer he’d been inconspicuously sipping from to avoid all the heavy stuff. Tony drained it in a few gulps, wiping his mouth and putting it on the ground.  
“Sit in a circle motherfuckers.”  
“We playing duck duck goose?” Steve laughed, settling down next to Natasha, the other side of her Tony, and opposite them Bruce and Clint. In perfect timing, Jane, Darcy and Thor meandered upstairs. “Ah! Hey guys, we’re just about to play spin the bottle,” Tony said.  
“Glad to know we all got put back to seventh grade,” Darcy replied, fast as ever, but sitting down none the less. “Yeah, I could do with some friends who don’t moan all the time,” Tony muttered to himself. “Right, ready kiddies? Fantastic.” He gave the bottle a harsh flick of the wrist. They all watched on in terror as it came to a slow stop between… Bruce and Tony. Natasha couldn’t suppress her manic laughter, but luckily she wasn’t the only one. “Spin it again,” Bruce said as an endearing fuchsia member of the circle. “Against the rules,” Tony said simply, grabbing Bruce by the cheeks and placing a kiss on his lips. “And you can stop blushing. I bet you get dirtier kisses from your mum.” Everybody laughed again.  
Spin.  
Thor and Jane.  
How predictable.   
They used it as an excuse to violate the ‘no PDA’ rule that was agreeably in effect. “I should have brought an umbrella,” muttered Tony.  
Spin.  
Steve and Clint.  
Natasha threw her head back again in inappropriately loud laughter. “This is bullshit man,” whined Clint. “There are hardly any girls here.”  
“I’m not complaining,” Tony said, waggling his eyebrows.  
“Nope,” Steve said, and Clint nodded his head in furious agreement.   
“You all suck.”  
“Just spin it again Tony.”  
Spin.  
Bruce and Darcy.  
Darcy shrugged, crawled over and kissed Bruce, who appeared slightly shell-shocked. Natasha put it down to the fact that she was sure she saw some open mouth there. Well, if they were both keen, good on Darcy for making a move. Tony wolf-whistled, and Darcy shrugged again. “I need another drink,” Tony announced.  
“What’s new.” That got Clint a playful smack.  
Spin.  
Clint and… Natasha.  
Jane giggled, Steve clapped, Tony whistled (again) and Bruce just looked glad to have the attention elsewhere. Natasha shuffled over to Clint, who flashed her a goofy smile to hide the fact that he was as unsure what to do as her. She had an idea, smiling back, leaning in to more whistles and planting an innocent, fleeting kiss on his cheek. She felt him relax. “Thanks,” he whispered, low enough that only she could hear. She smiled again.  
“That’s unfair,” Tony declared.  
“I kissed him.”  
“On the cheek.”  
“You weren’t specific about the rules.”  
“Fine.” Tony took down another shot. “Pepper just texted me, so disperse, explore, dance, drink, do whatever. I’m gonna go greet her.” Tony saluted and made his way down the stairs.

Clint wandered over to the bar and Natasha followed him. “Has he left anything good?”  
“Ha! Not likely. Him and his liquid courage. Then again, he paid for it all so I can’t complain. Do you wanna go explore?”  
She considered it. Rummaging through Tony’s drawers sounded fun and invasive. “Hey, why not.”  
“Maybe we could check out the kitchen up here too. Might be more booze.”  
“Win-win.”  
There was more in the kitchen; they decided not to tell anyone, taking a bottle of Jagermeister and sharing between themselves. “Where’s Tony’s room?”   
Clint grinned and they padded down a hallway, pushing open a door and stepping into to arguably the most over-the-top, massive rooms in the entire house. So Tony. Natasha stepped over empty beer cans, around the bed fit for an elephant (and all his elephant one night stands) and over to his desk, which was littered not with study books, but more cans, empty food packets and a mysterious bag. “Jesus,” she muttered.  
“Yeah, he has some problems. But we love him,” Clint said from behind her.  
She stood up, turning around and walking directly into Clint, almost rebounding off his chest, They both giggled, not that it was entirely hilarious. She looked up; his eyes were blue, maybe not as sparkly as Steve’s or Thor’s, but on closer inspection she could make out specks of green and gold strewn throughout. Much more interesting. She felt his hand on the small of her back, which was comforting in the fact that it was one of the most innocent places he could find to rest his hand on.  
His other hand reached into her hair, twirling a fiery strand around his finger with a small smile as she found hers on the breadth of his chest. He was warm.  
There was a pause that lasted the entirety of a heartbeat.  
She wasn’t sure who leaned in first, or whether she stood on tiptoes or he bent down, but she remembered the exact moment in which his lips met hers in a soft kiss, the exact moment that they seemed to join in a confusing but beautiful ensemble of flesh.  
Natasha had only had two kissed in her life prior to that one. The first was when she was eight, and it was fumbled and unsure, something she and her neighbour did without shame, purely in curiosity. The second time she had been at her second high school and feeling particularly lonely at the annual dance. She let one of the less considerate males pull her onto the dance floor, and the kiss was a disgusting, greedy, wet mess in between invasive, wandering hands. He wanted to go further, and tried to pull her outside. That was the first time she ever had to use martial arts in defence.   
And Clint’s might have only been her third, but it was beautiful and everything a kiss was supposed to be. She decided that you were allowed to cancel out all the failed attempts and mark the one that truly counts as your first, so that’s what it was. Her first kiss, and he was gentle and not pressuring, content with just that. She pulled away from him after a moment. He smiled warmly. She kissed him again.  
And that was it. As much as Tony would later want to believe that her hands slid coyly up his shirt, that his entangled in her hair and then trailed down to her zipper… no, innocent and independent and lovely.  
“Thanks,” was all she could think of saying, lamely.  
“Not a drunken accident,” Clint reassured… himself? Her? Both of them?  
“Not any kind of accident,” she agreed, proving it by pressing their lips together again briefly.  
“Cool.”


	6. Chapter 6

Just some Author’s notes:  
I’m back at school now guys, ugh. So I will promise an update every fortnight, and attempt to make one every week, but I have to prioritize schoolwork, sorry. So appy-polly-logies to all those who all already impatient with my not-so-speedy updates, but I have a heap of homework every night, meaning that subsequently, my only free time is on the train. Stick with me guys!  
Also, I have a feeling I’m about to rip your otp to pieces in the next few chapters. Don’t hunt me down with burning stakes and pitchforks?  
Have an extra long chapter to make up for my laziness -  
Love you all, leave reviews!  
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As they walked back into the main room, Natasha felt an overwhelming urge to grab his hand; it was just a kiss, but he felt like hers, and it just seemed the ordinary thing to do. She doubted he would have minded. But due to their absence, everybody would have enough reason to stare, so she twisted and untangled her fingers to entertain them, running them through her hair and entwining them in the strands to stop them reaching out for the other’s rough, slightly calloused but enveloping and warm . Her lips still tingled warmly and she wondered if when Clint smiled absentmindedly it was because of the kiss, because that’s why she was grinning to herself and maybe walking an inch too far into his personal space for want of that warmth. He was comfortable; she liked that.  
Maybe that was why it was him. Because despite all his boyish charm and adorably infantile sense of humour and gorgeous, crooked smile, he was solid and consistent and always and she needed that. She needed something that was consistent.

A piercing smell broke her train of thought, involuntarily breathing in the cloud of grey that billowed from the lounge and into her lungs, making her sputter slightly and frown. 

“Firstly, you weren’t invited.”  
She’d never heard Tony shout before.  
“Second, you can’t fucking smoke in here!” She looked at Clint and frowned, but he was staring straight ahead. She stepped further into the room and; who else, but Loki perched nonchalantly on the windowsill, gazing lazily at Tony who screamed at him as he took another long drag from his cigarette, leaning forwards and blowing the smoke directly in Tony’s face. “I was under the impression it was an open house.” Deadpan. She could never tell what he was thinking.  
“Well you were under the wrong impression jackass.” Thor put a warning hand on Tony’s shoulder, but he shook it off. “You have until I count to three to get the fuck out.”  
Loki put his cigarette out on the windowsill and Tony whimpered slightly. “Rude,” Loki murmured. “I simply wanted to see what all the fuss is about.” He paused to look pointedly at Tony. “I don’t really get the excitement.”  
“Then why are you still here?”  
“Calm down, I’m not causing any harm. Although the animals downstairs might be a different story.”  
“Loki,” Thor said darkly, interrupted by Tony who held out an arm to stop him from stepping forwards.  
“Look here, Gollum, everyone downstairs is here to have a good time. And if you think this place is below you, go to some pretentious jazz club. We’re in New York, you can’t escape them. Just leave us alone.”  
“He meant no harm-“  
“Thor, let me handle this.” He placed a finger squarely in the centre of Loki’s chest, punctuating each word with a sharp prod. “Get. Out.”   
Loki paused for a moment and looked coolly at Tony, and then up and around the room, meeting each set of eyes. When he caught Natasha’s, he raised an eyebrow, glancing at Clint and then between the two. “Oh.” He smirked.  
Tony followed his glance, certifying less surprised. “Put one of the bedrooms to good use?”  
Clint just looked at him, and he stopped talking.  
‘Well,’ Natasha thought. ‘First time for everything.’  
“Well,” Loki said. His voice rung through the murmurs sharply, authoritive yet not particularly loud. Natasha remembered briefly being in middle school and watching the older kids play in the school band; she was always awestruck in the way that no matter how many instruments were in play, the triangle could always be heard, crisp and clear and unmistakable as its own through the entire ensemble. That’s what Loki was like.   
“It’s been a pleasure. But contrary to popular belief, I’m aware when I’m not wanted.” Natasha felt a small pang of guilt. “Even if you hadn’t made it so painstakingly obvious,” he added, more to Tony than anybody else. He breezed past them and down the stairs, Tony stepping over to the window to see him all the way down the drive. “That fucking guy.”   
For once, Thor didn’t bother to comment.

On the other side of the room, a war of morals was raging inside Natasha; she knew how it felt to be an outcast, to be abstract and strange and unwanted. She could swear that when she caught Loki’s gaze that his eyes betrayed his stone mask, that beneath the glaze and the constant shadows she saw some raw emotion, and it pained her. It was a safe assumption that he turned everything; the betrayal, the loneliness – into spite and menace. He was becoming what they all thought he was anyway because the only thing he could do to their opinion of him was to envelop it entirely.   
“Don’t you think that was a little harsh?” She settled for, meekly, lamely.   
“No.”  
“But-”  
Tony looked exasperated. “He knows he’s not invited.”  
“Why not?”  
Tony paused, and Thor looked at her with eyes that managed to be surprised, sad and grateful all at the same time. “Because he’s fucking weird, that’s why. Because he’s a psychopath who was about to burn my house down.”  
Thor opened his mouth but closed it again, glaring at Tony but looking too tired to argue.  
“Nothing wrong with being weird,” she argued.  
“There is when you take it to that level.”  
She folded her arms. “He really wasn’t doing any harm.” A quick glance at Bruce and Steve – who had by now retreated to the side of room and was making a conscious effort to blend in with the wallpaper – and they both hurriedly moved their gazes from her and looked at the floor, the ceiling, the bar, anything neutral. “Help me out guys!” She wanted to scream “At least pick a side.”  
“Showing up in itself was pretty harmful.”  
“Give him a break.”  
Tony shook his head condescendingly, like she was a child trying to argue with an adult. “Look, you don’t know him”  
You could have heard a pin drop.  
“Neither do you!” Thor boomed suddenly, face contorted in a mask of pure vexation, glare burning holes in the back of Tony’s head. “You know not what my brother has been through-“  
“Thor-”  
“You don’t know. He is an instigator, no doubt, but rise above him. Trust you me that he has had his fair share of personal demons.” His tone turned bitter. “You should know enough about that, Tony.”  
Tony stopped for a moment, swallowing and shifting uncomfortably. He spun slowly on his heel to meet Thor’s gaze.   
“Fine.”  
“Tony, I did not-“  
“Nope, fine.” It sounded bitter. “I’m going for a walk.” He turned to Pepper – who’d been sufficiently quiet in that Natasha couldn’t have been the only one who had forgotten she’d been there. “Do you want to come? You don’t have to.” She nodded slowly, squeezing the hand that was wrapped around her with one of her own. “Cool. Bye,” he called over his shoulder as they walked away swiftly.  
“Tony-”  
Thor was interrupted by the slamming of a door, and for a moment they all cowered in the awkward silence; Natasha being grateful that despite the little digs from Loki and Tony, Clint hadn’t moved an inch away from her. She pushed herself against him and he threw an arm over her shoulder.   
A moment passed that stretched for an eternity.  
“I’m guessing that poured salt in a wound?” She asked tentatively. Thor shrugged, sighing wearily.  
“He gets sensitive about his problems. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”  
“He was being an ass,” she noted. Thor looked her in the eyes for a minute, searchingly, before flashing her a tired, albeit gratuitous, smile. “Thank you. For standing up for my brother when none would.” He looked emphatically around the room; between Bruce and Steve, at Clint, Jane and Darcy, all of whom avoided his gaze.  
She waved her hands listlessly. “It’s no big deal.”  
“No.” He sounded assertive. “Thank you. You hardly know him but you stood up to Tony. He is largely misunderstood. What you did was brave, and good.”  
“I just know what it’s like to be misjudged.”  
“Not many do.”  
She nodded politely and looked up at Clint. He looked tired; everybody did. “Do you think Tony’ll still let me stay over?” She whispered. She hoped he would; she couldn’t go home like this.  
“Yeah. He’s not actually mad at you. He doesn’t hold grudges either, so should be fine. You want me to help set up a bed on the couch?”  
She beamed. “Would you?”  
“Come on.”

The music downstairs came to a gradual stop; aside from the few irritating people who didn’t know when to leave, most of the crowd dispersed, leaving those who were staying of the group on the top floor settling down. Tony came back with Pepper around half an hour later; he looked happier, much calmer, and Natasha looked at him apologetically when he stumbled through the door with the giggling strawberry blond in tow. He gave her a quick hug, made sure she had bedding, and left to find Pepper a room. Natasha was just glad to be forgiven.  
She tossed and turned all night. It wasn’t the sofa; she’d come to associate the futon at her place with discomfort, seeing as it was where she slept when she was feeling particularly under the weather. It wasn’t exactly a nest of feathers. But Tony’s couch was probably a thousand times more comfortable than the futon, and a hundred times more so than her bed.  
But despite the ridiculously comfortable furniture, Loki wouldn’t leave her mind. She couldn’t help but pity him; even though she knew it would be the last thing he wanted; and she just wanted to talk to him, make sure he was okay. And maybe he was as bad as Tony thought; not psychopathic, but maybe a borderline sociopath in the least; but maybe Thor was right and he was bitter because he was heartily misjudged. It wasn’t her place, but she needed to let him know it was okay. That she understood.  
It wouldn’t be the first time Natasha had cut her nose off to spite her; if anyone was a sponsor for the underdogs it was her.  
She felt guilty in a right; she should be thinking of Clint and his lips, smooth and soft unlike a lot of him; or his hands, large and warm and not wandering, but resting innocently on her back, entangled in her hair. She should fall asleep softly and smiling. So she felt guilty.  
And it must have been either extremely late at night or particularly early in the morning when she finally collapsed into her pillow, brain simply too tired to disturb her and body simply too tired to thrash and ache. She didn’t dream; she thought she would, but she slept too deeply. Instead, she just drifted in waves of solid black until morning light pierced through her eyelids and not-so-gently reminded her that she hadn’t had one glass of water between shots. Her head pounded aggressively; the normally gentle sunrays felt like harsh, blinding white, and seemed to awaken some kind of construction site in her head, of which a few jackhammers were focusing acutely on her skull. She threw a hand over her eyes, rolled out of the small pool of drool that had collected on the pillow and pulled the sheets over her head.   
“Ow.”  
“You alright?”

Ducking out of the covers and squinting in the daylight; it was Clint.   
‘Who else,’ said a small, sardonic and apparently easily irritable voice in her head.  
“Go away,” she moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ow.”  
Clint just laughed softly and sat down on the sofa by her feet, which she curled up to her chest begrudgingly to make room, moaning again. “Fix my head.”  
“You don’t drink much?”  
“Fix my head.”  
“I’ll take that as a no.” She could almost hear the cocky smile in his voice.  
Smug bastard. She buried her face in the covers again, and Clint patted the protruding portion of her head gently and laughed again.  
“I’m not a dog Clint.”  
“What if I got you a panadol and a big glass of water?” He suggested, ignoring her.  
She made a muffled noise which she hoped served as both a ‘yes’ and a ‘thank you.’ Luckily, Clint was fluent in hung-over Natasha and he hopped up, trotting to the kitchen; his footsteps echoing unreasonably loud. Every little sound; the clink of the glass, the soft closing of the cupboard; the footsteps back to her bed – felt unjustly blunt; amplified just to annoy her.   
“Shh,” she hissed. The sofa dipped again to indicate his weight, and he peeled the covers gently away from her head, ignoring the poisonous look she gave him that, from experience, would break a man of weaker stature. “Here,” he said softly, pressing the two small pills into her hand and passing her the glass, cool drops of condensation trickling down her hand. “Thanks,” she managed to mumble to her own amazement, ignoring her throbbing temple and downing the capsules with the liquid in one gulp.  
“Drink all the water Tash. Make sure you sip.”  
”Okay mum.” She smirked.   
The water was cold against her throat, reassuringly so, and ignoring Clint’s advice she took gratuitous mouthfuls as if it were her first and last drink. The throbbing leapt down a notch, but her stomach swirled disconcertingly as she drained the glass. “I feel sick.”  
Clint rolled his eyes condescendingly, droning, “You are the most stubborn person I know. And I know Tony.”  
“Oh!” She exclaimed. “How is he? Is he pissed at me?” She set the cup harshly down on the table, throwing herself back into the pillows and pressing a hand to her forehead. “Answer quietly.”  
The famed crooked smile again. “God, Tash. Last time I saw Tony he was… in the bathroom.” He frowned, his forehead creasing slightly. She didn’t like it when he frowned; he looked prematurely old. She preferred his smile.   
“Throwing up.”  
“At least I’m not the only one,” she said sarcastically.  
Clint laughed, but it sounded misplaced and hollow, his eyes clouded slightly and dull, void of the little glint that usually held place when he chuckled or smiled. “Hey, you alright?” Natasha asked, pressing her hand on top of his which rested on the edge of the sofa.   
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I just worry about him, ya know?’ She nodded slowly. “You gotta wonder how far he’s going to take it. God knows how many bottles I found on the tiles. In fact-” he paused for a moment. “No retching. I should probably go help him… I don’t know, up, get cleaned. I think Pepper left earlier.”  
Natasha pouted sympathetically. “I would help but…” she looked at him wearily. “Ow.”  
This time his laugh was slightly less synthetic, simultaneously putting her slightly more at ease. “Understood. Drink more water. That kind of stuff. Get better soon.” He mock-saluted and walked out of the door, and she could hear his footsteps carry through the hallway, proceeded by the creaking of the bathroom door and a few hushed whispers.

Tony’s reply would have been easier to hear; he was all but yelling, but he was still slurring and practically incomprehensible. All she could tell was that he was whining, and Clint was calmly trying to suggest otherwise. It was like listening to a muffled conversation between a mother and a toddler who doesn’t want to go to bed. 

“Poor Tony,” she said to herself, nodding before letting herself sink back into the pillow. While the rational part of her said she should probably be drinking water and trying to get off the couch or at the very least, sit up straight, let alone help with the clean-up or see if Tony was okay, the irrational part – which she often paid far much more attention to – had convinced her that sleep was the answer. And who was she to make rational decisions?  
> When she awoke for the second time – throbbing reduced to a light pulse and eyes only recoiling slightly from the still-too-bright sun (did that thing ever stop?) – she blinked herself awake to the sight of the majority of the group- bar Thor, Darcy and Jane, who she assumed had slinked away when she was having conflicting internal drama mixed with a headache fuelled, seemingly, by the power of a thousand suns – standing over her bed, looking at her with amusement, slight adoration and maybe a hint of distaste.  
“Morning sleepyhead,” Clint said. The smile was back in his voice. “Again.”  
“Nice to see you help out with the clean up.” Tony sounded back to his normal self, sardonic and bitchy as ever. “But you really shouldn’t have. There wasn’t much to do.” Dripping with sarcasm, but maybe not particularly spiteful. She still didn’t miss the subtle glance to the stairs, indicating that they’d made something half-respectful of the bomb site that was downstairs. A small wave of guilt, but Tony didn’t look particularly offended; mainly tired, other than his constant ‘I’m better and you know it’ face. Might as well call it the ‘Stark look’.  
“Mornin’,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes. A quick glance at the clock that hung from the wall opposite caused her to frown. “Afternoon? I’m really sorry.”  
Tony just laughed. “You might want to get dressed, or changed, or whatever. Because we received a feel calls from a particularly irritated Mr. Romanoff and I think he wants you home soon.”   
Natasha’s eyes widened, as she reached under the covers to pat down her pockets. “Which one of you molested me?”  
“Don’t worry, your phone is safe and sound,” Tony replied. “Bar a new background and a few interesting tidbits in your sent folder.” He pulled it swiftly from the pocket of his jeans in one fluid motion, throwing it to her. She caught it carefully in her cupped palms, unlocking the screen to note a screensaver of Tony pouting dramatically instead of the picture of her and her father – a few sent texts after a quick review, most to Darcy and Jane informing them that she’d gotten with Tony. And Pepper. And both at the same time, and all together. And more than once.  
“I don’t remember that,” she laughed, deleting the texts. “Ass.”  
“It was hot,” Tony assured her with a wink.   
A brief chorus of laughter followed by a brief silence that was broken by the shrill ringing of her phone. She groaned. “Oh god.”  
“Dad?” Tentatively, much to the amusement of her audience. “Uh yeah. We slept in. I know, sorry.”  
She mouthed ‘help’ at Clint, who just grinned. “No… dad, it’s fine. I can get myself home. Yeah. Cool. Sorry… bye.”  
Beep.  
“You in shit?” Tony, casually picking at his fingernails.  
“No, luckily. He thought I was just hanging out with Darcy. But now I have to get myself home…” she looked up with what she hoped were puppy eyes. It was an expression she wasn’t particularly familiar with. Tony’s expression wasn’t anything more than nonchalant. “I guess I could drive you. Say I’m Darcy’s… older brother, or extremely attractive cousin or something.”  
“I love you!” She exclaimed in relief.  
“I know.” He turned to the rest. “And can I trust you clowns here, alone, for twenty minutes?” He didn’t let them reply, adding, “Course not, I can’t even trust myself to be alone here for twenty minutes. Have fun!”  
Natasha stepped off of the couch, pulling her dress down from where it had settled inappropriately around her mid thighs – she hadn’t had the cognitive thought process to change into pajamas – and grabbed her plastic bag from the ground by her feet. It contained her change of clothes. “Sooo?”  
“Bathroom just down the hall,” Tony said, pointing to the left where one of the few doors was slightly ajar.  
“Got it.”   
When she was changed into more comfortable clothes – much to Tony’s disappointment – they made for the door, Tony not bothering to leave any ground rules aside from,  
“My booze.” And then to Clint and Natasha, “Don’t think I didn’t notice what was missing from the kitchen.”  
He closed the door behind him, turning to Natasha with a pout and, “You shouldn’t have changed.”  
“My dad would kill me.”  
“You looked hot!”  
“Tony Stark!” She cried, sounding more like his mother than she’d meant to. “You almost kind of have something resembling a girlfriend.”  
“Doesn’t mean I can’t I be appreciative.”   
She punched him lightly, a habit learnt from being Clint’s friend.  
Clint.  
Clint.  
They hadn’t spoken about kissing or the party or what they were. Loki and Tony had sort of been the main topic, aside Natasha’s pounding head and her inability to follow rules set purely for her own good. Was she supposed to call him? Would they just talk at school? What happened now?  
She’d never had a serious boyfriend before, and had no idea how to tell if she did now. Maybe everything would be cleared up on Monday. She could just imagine the conversation.  
You know how we kissed?  
Yeah!  
Were you drunk?  
We both were.  
Was it an accident?  
I don’t think so.  
Cool.  
Sounded exactly like Clint.  
As much as she wanted to ask Tony a lot of things – the group were clear that he had demons, but wary to name them – Natasha did nothing but sit in silence having witnessed how quickly Tony could go from… well, Tony, to what happened last night. Obviously big, bad, scary demons. Maybe when they were closer she would ask.  
Beep.  
“If that is my dad,” she moaned, opening the text. “I get it, I’m on my way!”  
Tony laughed. “Who’s it from?”  
“Oh. Clint.”  
“Oh!” He mocked, giggling in the utterly infantile way that only he did. “Your place or his?”  
“He just asked if I wanted to see a movie on Sunday.”  
Tony’s face fell but hers lit up, in every sense of the word.  
“You’re both so boring and… normal.”  
“Eh,” she replied tonelessly. “I like it.”   
Beep.  
“Someone’s desperate,” Tony said, blinking slowly but not taking his eyes from the road.”  
“Oh.”  
“Oh?”  
Natasha didn’t reply, simply re-reading the words that jumped harshly, and far too brightly, from her screen. The glare married with the sunlight was steadily becoming too much for her degenerative eyes. “Ow.”  
“What does it say! You can’t not tell me Nat,” Tony whined. “Don’t be a bitch.” He turned and looked at her over his sunglasses. She wish she was wearing hers; the sunlight was even more piercing outside. She wondered how she’d maintain a front for her dad with a head like this. He was so strict about drinking that she didn’t even know what his reaction would be if he was suspicious.  
“Natasha!”  
“No, he resent his last text. It’s fine,” she lied. “Calm down. I thought it was from someone else.”  
“You’re not telling me something.”  
Now it was her turn to look at him incredulously. “And why would I lie to you?”  
“I’m being serious!” he cried. “Do I look like I’m joking Nat? I have to know all the good gossip.”  
Natasha laughed lightly. “You always look like you’re joking. But no gossip, promise. It was just an error, Tony.”   
She waited until his eyes were back on the road to awaken her phone again, pressing a button to bring the screen back to life and punching in her code to lead her to the text that was still open and unchanged.  
Oh no, it said that. No doubt about it. Now she just had to figure out what the fuck to do.

 

Natasha. Was wondering if it would be convenient for us to grab a coffee and have a chat on Sunday. I know a place on 31st. I don’t feel we’ve been properly introduced.  
\- Loki


	7. Chapter 7

Author’s notes: I’m really sorry about the delay! I’m working on a SuperWhoLock fic and it’s getting me sidetracked, not to mention school and now I’m going to Vanuatu for five days so ugh, no updates for a while. Like I said, sorry; I’m not that happy about how this chapter turned out, but I’m doing it for me so fuck it, here you go amigos xoxox  
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No, she wasn’t here.  
Natasha Romanoff, kind-of girlfriend of Clint Barton and indirect enemy of Loki Odinson was not at the café on 31st, sitting at a table and tapping her foot impatiently as her coffee went lukewarm. She hadn’t called Clint and said she was sick and apologised for not being able to make it. She hadn’t chosen to meet Loki instead.

And say she had. Say she was there and waiting and had lied, it was all okay because as far as she could tell, she was sitting alone and Loki probably wouldn’t even-  
Oh.  
“You’re here,” he said, walking over and slinging his satchel over the back of the chair, glancing at her untouched and not so appealing cup of coffee. “I’m sorry I’m late. In my defence, you never texted me back and I figured you wouldn’t come. So I thought I’d swing by just in case, and…” he gestured to her. She returned his thin, crooked smile.  
“You said you wanted to chat?” She asked as Loki raised a long, elegant hand to beckon at one of the waiters who greeted him by name and handed him a lunch menu.  
“I don’t know if you’re ordering food, but I’m famished,” he said without looking over the menu. “Of course I’ll pay for everything. Sorry, what was that?” He waved her away before she could repeat herself. “Oh yes, chat. Don’t panic, it’s nothing serious. Just that you interest me and you seem different to all of your… less favourable friends.” He took in her perked eyebrow and folded arms. “Obviously no offence meant.”  
“Obviously none taken.”  
“Great.” He smiled again. This Loki was strange – he wasn’t the cold, stand-offish and cruelly sarcastic half-victim she’d come to know. He was rambling and smiling genuinely and his eyes were a little less cold-glare with dancing shadows and evil glint and more of the loveliest green she’d ever seen – piercing, crystal clear, the colour of fields and freshly cut grass, or maybe liquidized emerald was a more fitting expression because-  
Because on top of not being at the restaurant and not having lied to Clint, she was also not letting her inner monologue ramble about the connotations of the colour of Loki’s eyes.  
“- around school, but the last time I tried to say hi you just looked terrified and I think Clint wanted to rip me a new one.”  
She blinked quickly, hoped she hadn’t been staring into his eyes because that was a roomful of awkward she really didn’t want to open the door to. “My apologies, I was somewhere else.”  
Loki chuckled bemusedly, sliding the menu across the table. “I was just saying that I’ve seen you around school but I never really introduced myself. Sorry if I came off threatening or something when I said hi. You were with Clint; he has a vendetta and I have a reputation to uphold. No, I am a sarcastic, narcissists jerk with a martyr complex, but I’m not…” he fluttered his hands around as he searched for the right word. “I don’t know, evil. Maybe jaded, blame Thor. I suppose your friends have told you all about- but there I go rambling again. Ever so sorry.” He didn’t look sorry; he did look happier than normal, though. Natasha wasn’t sure if it was because of her- and if it was, how would she deal with that? It was one thing to be empathetic. It was another to… Clint came to mind and she almost drowned in the ensuing mental tsunami of guilt. She pushed the thought aside because it was her default setting, and focused on the fact that it was just coffee. Maybe something good had happened- maybe Loki was just having a nice day. The sun was shining; it was warm and a cool breeze rolled past and through them as they ate alfresco.   
“Well,” she replied slowly, sticking out her hand. “A new start seems to be in order.”  
Loki looked at her for a second, and was that…  
suspicion? You don’t have the right, you sneaky bastard  
but his searching, clinical gaze didn’t seem to find anything of bad taste and he wrapped his fingers around hers with a small, tight smile. “I’m Loki. Pleasure to meet you.”  
“I’m Natasha. What you said.”  
Then she pulled her hand away; they stayed entwined for a second too long and she was slightly uncomfortable, although Loki didn’t seem to be, so she hid behind the cardboard and plastic, scanning the print, deciding that everything looked pretty summery and appetising and she was allowed to at least have a garden salad. “What are you having?” Loki asked coolly when the waiter returned.   
“Caser salad, and uh, can I have another cup of coffee, please? Flat white?”  
“And I’ll have a BLT, thank you,” Loki said, taking the menu from her gently and handing it to the waiter who looked up from his notepad and smiled. “Will that be all?”  
“That will be all.”  
“So,” Natasha said after a moment of silence. “You and Tony, huh?” Maybe not the best choice in conversation. But it was getting awkward and she didn’t really know how to ask safe questions.  
Something dark washed over Loki’s face for a minute; an encompassing shadow that reminded Natasha why she’d been so initially terrified of him. He seemed acutely changeable. “Hm. We have history. He hates me.”  
“Do you hate him?”  
“I’m… indifferent,” he settled for, avoiding her eye contact.  
“Well, if it’s anything to you, I think he was out of line kicking you out of the party,” she offered. “You weren’t doing anything wrong.”  
Loki’s face relaxed again, the crevasse in his expression closing and replaced with a testing smile. “Thank you for standing up for me. It means a lot.”  
“You’re welcome,” she said politely, laughing slightly after a moment. “Funny, that’s what Thor said too.” The shadows, again. “Oh god, is that another no-no? Thor?”  
“No, it’s fine. I just don’t get on with him either.” His tone said anything but it’s fine.  
Natasha considered dropping it, talking about something else – preferably not people, seeing as Loki had weird relationships and hated everyone – and it wasn’t a one way street – but she didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the odds stacked against her making a rational decision; slash minding her own business. “How come? I mean, you’re brothers, right?” He didn’t say anything. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” she added hastily.  
“Again, it’s fine. We have a… complicated, relationship,” Loki sighed, wrapping his hands around each other, entwining his fingers like Natasha did when she was nervous or scared or anticipating something. “Centralised on the notion that he is by far the favourite son; or at least the only by blood. He mainly just feels sorry for me. I’ll assume you know I’m adopted?” She nodded tentatively, looking at him as if mentally pressing him to continue. “Yes, well I’m not sure why Odin – that’s my father – even bothered. He all but hates me. I think he found me, outside, when I was a baby. Not the most opulent of birthings,” he said with a grimace. “You know, I normally do things just to piss him off. It’s hilarious. That’s why I started smoking. That’s why I, uh… I’m rambling again.”  
Natasha peered at him, raising an eyebrow, leaning across the table. “Why you what?”  
“Like I said,” Loki replied, attempting some semblance at composed and coming across jumpy. “I’m rambling.”  
“I don’t mind.”  
“You don’t want to know.”  
“You’re not telling me something!” She insisted. Loki furrowed his brow, going from confused to… what? Angry? In about 0.6 of a second. “And why would I, Natasha Romanoff? We’re supposed to be enemies.”  
Natasha shook her head impatiently. “The things you tell strangers… It’s easier.” Loki didn’t look like he was going to budge, the crevasse, the monstrous, dark crack in his composed mask re-opening. Natasha tried a different angle; “What if I said I hated Thor? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”  
“You’re friends with Thor,” Loki said dryly.  
“It’s called a lie, Loki,” She replied, rolling her eyes. “I stood up for you at the party! You owe me.”   
Okay – maybe that crossed a line. She couldn’t tell what Loki’s expression was, but his liquid emeralds were slightly glazed over. He sighed and sat back in his chair.  
“Fine, but you asked,” he said after a moment of judgmental – but not seemingly spiteful – gaze. “Me and Tony were a… thing. We dated,’ he added, and then quickly, “I’m not gay. He isn’t, either. But we were sophomores and I was trying to give my homophobic dad a heart attack. I think he was too consistently stoned and drunk to care about what it meant for his sexuality.” Loki shrugged listlessly as if it was no big deal.   
“What about the whole black dog thing everyone talks about?” Natasha pressed, for want of self-control. “About Tony?”  
“It’s why we broke up,” Loki said. “Well, technically, I broke up with him. He’s a manic depressive with addictive tendencies, and I definitely wasn’t helping his cause. In fact, I all but encouraged him to indulge in it. So I ended it. I think that’s why he’s still bitter; in all his self-worshipping glory, and he got dumped by the weird, skinny kid.”  
“Huh,” Natasha said, lamely. “That sucks.” It sounded meek but Loki didn’t seem to mind, shrugging again and offering a small smile that said, hey, don’t worry about it.   
“Why,” Loki said with a frown. “Has he gotten worse? Any more attempts?”  
“More?” She said, returning his frown. “You mean he’s tried to, uh…” a sombre nod cut her off. “Oh.” She gave herself a minute to let her already jumbled thoughts run between poor Tony and poor Loki. “I don’t know,” she said after a minute. “I mean, he hasn’t tried anything. There were drugs, but it was a party, right?”  
Loki sighed, then sat up straight because he probably didn’t want to be caring that much. She did, however, notice the light tug downwards on the corners of his lips, the thin lines across his brow, and she wondered if he still did care, not as a partner but just as a friend, or an… ex-friend. And knowing Tony, that killed him. He probably wanted to be self-destructive and have everybody just leave him in peace. That would explain why a genius had such docile friends – and no offensive to the blondes but they didn’t really have the emotional depth to be worried, let alone make him stop anything. Clint was always worried about him, but Tony was quick to brush it off. Natasha could see why Loki was terrible for Tony; he probably saw more of Tony than he liked. And on top of dealing with him own problems… she had an unprecedented urge to leap across the table and give him a bear hug. Then again, sociopath or not, he seemed like the type of person who wouldn’t react well to that.   
Their food interrupted the emotional lull and consequent still in conversation, because when the words ran dry it was less awkward and more that neither of them had to try and could sort of just sit there and think – Natasha, about the fact that Loki had just poured heart and soul to her and seemed a bit vulnerable and she was wondering how he would take it, or if he would regret it. But that train of thought crashed when the same waiter appeared again, with apologies for his lateness, a salad, a sandwich and a flat white. He set the food and drink down on the table, smiling again (a smile that was so apologetic and hospitable it was scary) and kind of backing away from the table.  
“The staff here creep me out,” she admitted quietly.  
Loki chuckled – hollowly, out of place – and nodded in agreement. “It’s like they’re being held at gunpoint to be as eerily friendly as possible. But the food’s good, so I come here a lot.”  
Natasha smiled and pierced a pieced of grilled chicken with her fork, agreeing with the notion that the food was good – or as tasty as a salad could get. It was fresh and crispy and pretty impressive for rabbit food.  
“So I’m going to ask you about your personal demons because I suck at safe conversation and the fact that it’s none of my business is enough for me to want to know. And I would apologise but I’m not really sorry,” she admitted, popping a piece of tomato in her mouth with a not-really-apologetic shrug. Loki grinned, properly, from ear to ear, which was a strange but welcome look on him. “I do like you Natasha. You remind me of Tony.” He took a bite of his own food – far too large for somebody who’d just been asked a question, but she didn’t need that to tell her he didn’t want to answer. When he’d finished with his colossal mouthful of meat and assorted embellishments, he wiped his mouth on the napkin. “I’m probably as bad as him,” he admitted. “I’ve done some stuff. Mainly illegal. All fun,” he said as if he were reading the weather forecast.  
“You know that’s not what I’m asking,” Natasha replied matter-of-factly.  
“I do,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to go there. Not when I’m having fun.”  
“You’re having fun?”  
Loki laughed again, lightly. “Don’t sound so surprised. If it weren’t for all the social heirechy and misconceptions and general bullshit that is highschool, I’m sure we’d be great friends.”  
Natasha titled her head inquisitively, arguing, “We still can. Right?”  
“Hm. I’m sure Clint would have something to say about that.”  
“I don’t belong to Clint,” Natasha said warningly. She liked Clint – loved him as a friend, would probably love him as more one day; but she was Natasha, and she was strong. She didn’t belong to anyone. “And even if he had a say, I doubt he would mind.”  
Loki looked over her shoulder, pouting, frowning and rolling his eyes back to hers. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he muttered under his breath.  
“Natasha?”  
“Oh god,” she hissed, shooting Loki a terrified glance. He seemed as equally surprised.  
“Natasha, is that you?” Clint called from across the restaurant, striding over to the table to peer at Natasha, saying, “I thought you were sick?” And then Natasha’s insides turning as he looked at her, at Loki; seeing the realisation dawn on his face. His happy-go-lucky smile turned into a hurt frown, and then again into a scowl. “You have got to be kidding.”  
“Clint-”  
“You’re joking! You blew me off to hang out with this, this…”  
“Sociopath?” Loki offered, unhelpfully, earning a cold glare from Natasha.  
“Clint, please,” she began desperately. “You have to let me explain.”  
“What are you explaining?” Loki said defensively, crossing his arms.   
Clint held a hand in his face. “Shut the fuck up, creeper.” Loki swatted his arm away and looked at Natasha questioningly.   
“Clint, don’t say that. Now let me explain-” She attempted again, but was cut off a second time.  
“I don’t have to let you explain anything,” Clint said, more sad than angry which was painful because Natasha wanted to be yelled at. “No, I get it.”  
She shook her head. “I don’t think you do!”  
“No, Nat. You lied to me because… because you’re rather hang out with Loki.” He spat the last word like an insult – which she guessed he thought it was.   
“Look, I’m sorry,” she insisted.  
“Huh. Don’t be,” he replied stoically, turning to leave before spinning back around and saying, “You didn’t have to lie, Nat.”  
Loki let her revel in the horror and silence for a moment, and for that she was grateful. He didn’t comment when she wringed her hands through her hair and muttered profanities under her breath. He didn’t say anything when she threw him an exasperated glance.  
“What am I going to do?” She asked him eventually, as if he had some monumental answer.  
“Why did you lie?” Loki said, ignoring her question, looking slightly hurt. “You told him you were sick? I could have rescheduled. Are you just embarrassed about people knowing, Natasha?”  
Natasha scowled. “Loki, I have more important issues than your self-esteem right now.” She immediately wished she could take the words back – as if the public rejection, the stares weren’t enough; it sounded so much harsher than she’d intended.  
“Ouch.” Loki’s face turned blank, which she’d learnt was never a good sign; worse even than any flickering shadow and crevasse. Unreadable meant trouble.  
“Ugh, look-”  
“No, it’s fine,” Loki replied slowly.  
“Don’t be bitchy.” In her defence, she really couldn’t handle Loki’s self-doubtful breakdown when there was a possibility Clint would never talk to her again.  
“You’re selfish,” Loki replied, deadpan. “You remind me of Tony.”  
Natasha stopped thinking for a second – he’d said that before, when she’d admitted to not caring about pushing boundaries in conversation. In that, he’d been paying her a compliment. For being fearless and self-defining.  
You’re selfish – you remind me of Tony.  
Do you hate Tony?  
I’m indifferent?  
“Did you mean to say those in the same sentence?” She whispered, feeling her throat clog with emotion because she was having a nice lunch and everything had suddenly turned to shit and now Loki hated her too.  
“I just thought you were different,” he replied simply, grabbing his bag and putting some money on the table and he walked away and left her alone.

“Waiter?” She croaked, watching the short man all but bounce over to the table, pausing when he saw her glistening eyes, opening his mouth to speak and closing it again. “Can I have the bill please?”


	8. Chapter 8

“Clint.” Natasha’s voice caught on the first word, which wasn’t a good sign. But it was probably because saying his name, even down the phone, reminded her of what a selfish cow she’d been and had apparently become. Then it reminded her of the restaurant fiasco, and how quickly everything had turned to crap. And then she thought of Loki, but she wasn’t ready to open that door yet. Either way, he was next on the list of pointedly-ignored-apology-voicemails. That would make three each in two days.   
“So, uh, I know you hate me right now because you haven’t called me back. And I kind of said everything that needs to uh…. Everything I need to say, already,” she choked. “But please call me back. Because, well, you’re the first proper friend I’ve had and I’m so sorry. Don’t let me lose you.” And then for good measure, she added, “I’m an idiot. Goodbye.”  
It was kind of her catchphrase.  
She listened to the dull buzz long after the beep sounded to remind her that the voicemail was over, partly because the white noise was somewhat comforting, and partly because now she had to call Loki and that was as equally painful but in other ways. In other ways because maybe, after time, Clint would forgive her and they would be friends again, because all she’d really done to Clint was lie and brush of his company for somebody else – not forgetting that, in his eyes, the somebody else was a major blacklist for social get-togethers, but all the same; it wasn’t a crime punishable by death. But Loki. Loki. The kind of guy that made her feel appreciative for his five minutes of attention because she knew that he didn’t like people with good reason, because she knew he’d been stepped on and betrayed and forgotten and made to be this tough, sour thing – because she knew that he was swimming out of his depth to invite her to lunch and pour his heart and soul and find out that she’d been hiding their meet like he was some leper. 

“Hi, Loki, It’s me.”  
Who else? She thought. You’re an idiot, Natasha.  
“Again.  
“I already said I’m sorry about a million times, but I’ll say it again because I know I really screwed up and… I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. And I don’t think you’ll even listen to this message, but if it’s any consolation at all I had a really nice time at that café and you’re great fun to talk to and I’d really like it if you could maybe forgive me because-” When her voice broke for a second time, she decided she wasn’t perhaps in the right emotional frame of mind to go any further. If the beep didn’t cut her off, her tears would, and not only was it embarrassing to cry during a voicemail message, but she had the feeling that she didn’t have the right to be the hurt one. “Yeah. Call me,” she finished lamely, blinking through her wet haze to clumsily push a button and end the call before throwing her phone onto the bed beside her and letting herself flop back into the mattress. She didn’t try and stop the flow of silent tears, pausing only occasionally to sniffle and shifting every now and then so the damp that collected on her pillowcase wasn’t localised and sodden.   
A minute later; maybe an hour, maybe a day – came the cautious knock on her bedroom door which pulled her from her self-indulgent state of misery, and she all but hissed with her face still buried deep in the bedding, wishing she could just be left alone to regret things and be more upset than she had the privilege.   
“Natasha?” Her dad wasn’t one for subtlety, but even he seemed to grasp the despair of her condition and didn’t bother to open the door, only climbing the stairs every once in a while to offer her food in a cautious, hushed whisper. She always said no. Once he tried to peel her from her cocoon of not-too-recently-washed and tear-drenched sheets, but the only response he got was an incomprehensible wail that could be compared to a large mammal suffering a violent death. That was the first day she reserved herself to sending pathetic voicemails and feeling sorry for herself. Since then, he’d let her have the two days of faux-sickness; although she put it down to him feeling bad about carting her from school to school and not having the heart to tell her to grow a pair, march through the gates and deliver the apology that both parties deserved.  
No, Natasha was a lot of things recently, and coward was one to add to the list. She knew she’d have to face them eventually, but-

“Natasha, somebody’s here to see you,” her father said, louder, clearer, from behind the oak.  
She sat up so fast and straight that she was surprised she didn’t sprout some furry, perky ears and a wagging tail, hopping off her bed and padding quickly to the door to press her head against the cool wood and reply tentatively, “Who is it?”  
A few scenarios sprung to mind; the ones she clung on to were those of Loki and Clint, both angry and hurt but calmer, and considerably more willing to forgive her. She’d reached the point where she no longer felt guilty that Loki was as fast an assumption as Clint; as hard as she tried, her mind was now split between the two where it had been previously consumed in a 24/7 Clint-induced haze. Now he had to share the limelight; she’d come to accept that. Like a Twilight situation except without the sparkling.  
They’d be hard to face, sure; she had been hiding from school like a coward, but the same cowardice part of her breathed a sigh of relief because she didn’t have to initiate anything, her heart skipping not in the literal sense that would probably require medical attention, but in the dreamy kind of metaphorical way that meant she was just happy to have something happen. Not that she wasn’t aware it could all end in the complete opposite direction; she was hoping either had come to hear (and subsequently, accept) her apology in person, but chances were just as high in that equally, either could be at her door to slag her off, face to face. Clint and Loki’s exits from the restaurant had been so fast she’d been confused and spinning to remember exactly what she’d said. It all happened in a matter of minutes. So yeah, chances were that there were a lot of things they didn’t get to say – or rather, yell – that they felt she needed to hear.   
Admittedly, she was really hoping it wasn’t the latter.  
What she wasn’t expecting, was her dad to sigh and reply, “Don’t know. Some guy. Short, hair gelled up all stupid like. He’s wearing some real posh clothes. Looks rich, a bit up his own ass. You know this guy?”  
Natasha’s vampire-romance-style resolution shattered before her eyes as she returned a louder sigh and slumped slightly against the door. “Tony,” she groaned. “What does he want?”  
A shuffle away from the door and she heard her father yell, “What do you want, boy?” down the stairs.  
“I need to speak to the hermit,” Tony called, more to her than to her dad. “Can you drag her out of her room?”  
There was the kind of grumbling that only middle-aged men make and the shuffling footsteps back to her door. “I’m not your messenger,” came the grousing voice. “So just go down and talk to the kid.”  
“Ugh!” Natasha cried, looking down at her filthy tracksuit pants before running to her dresser to throw on clothes that had been washed in the last week at least. A shirt, a pair of jeans, ten minutes of fussing and an impatient father who tapped his foot on the floorboards later, Natasha threw open her door and breathed in the (kind of) fresh air, wondering if she’d really been missing out on this outside-world business and gaining an apprehensive glance from her kin who she shrugged off and walked down the stairs with as much composure as she could sustain.  
“Tony,” she said simply, leaning against the doorframe and squinting against the sun, realising that she’d been doing the same last time they’d been together; except that was from a hangover and this was from sight adjusted to living in a cave for three days.  
“Tasha!” Tony cried, throwing his arms around her and doing an odd kiss-kiss thing on each cheek which he got away with because he was both rich and eccentric. “We all thought you were dead, sugar.”  
“I left messages,” she said. “To uh… to some people.”  
Tony nodded. “That’s why I’m here.”  
Natasha felt herself stiffen, felt her brow crease and then soften, “Because Clint doesn’t have the balls to come see me himself?”  
“Hey!” Tony said warningly, reminding her who he was friends with first. “You really hurt the kid, ya know? I’m here to straighten everything out because that’s just how fan-fucking-tastic I am. Your boyfriend doesn’t even know I’m here.”  
“Does yours?” Natasha snapped, because she wasn’t in the mood for Tony’s self-righteousness.  
“Excuse me?”  
For once, Natasha was the one with the smug smile on her face and Tony was the one with the confused (albeit somehow, still cocky) expression. “Loki?”  
He was much better at covering the flickering shadows, because although they were as dark and threatening and even danced in similar shapes, they only hung for a second before Tony was calm and composed again, gesturing to the wall in her front garden and saying, “Shall we sit outside? Nice day.” Not that Natasha would know what kind of day it was because her blinds were shut tight and she was still adjusting to the sunlight. But if she was just being dramatic and the world was, indeed, not on fire, then it was warm and pleasant, and she could feel the gentle breeze. The weather was as it had been three days ago, when she sat alone and unsure at a table… but those thoughts could be kept at bay until Tony or Clint or Loki dragged them to the forefront of her mind.  
She followed him outside; feeling her father’s wary glare against both of their backs like the red dot from a sniper rifle, so she pulled the door closed behind her and left her overly suspicious family (or what was left of it) to sulk in the lounge.

“So he told you, huh?” Tony asked nonchalantly, hoisting himself up onto the dusty, red-bricked wall with the fragility that one walks through mud with.  
Poor Tony, Natasha thought. The hardest thing he’s had to deal with today is probably trying not to look uncomfortable in middle-class suburbia.  
“Yeah,” she replied. “At the… café.”  
“Oh, the café. I heard it was quite dramatic,” Tony said. “But I couldn’t worm the details from Robin Hood. Care to fill me in?”  
Natasha eyed him for a second, before sighing and letting her shoulders slump. “I was actually kind of hoping I could pretend it hadn’t happened for a while longer.”  
“Ah,” Tony said with a shrug. “No such luck. What were you going to do, anyway – fake sick for another week? You gotta accept some responsibility, Tash. I don’t think you’re making it easier for yourself, or for Clint, or even Loki, by shying away. I’m sorry but you don’t really have the right to be the one avoiding them and leaving pathetic messages – oh yeah, I’ve heard those.”  
Something Tony had in common with Clint – among other things – was his short but insightful bursts of philosophy. But she wasn’t about to feed his ego any more than it needed, so she just brushed him off. “Rich coming from you,” she scoffed.  
“Might be,” Tony admitted. “But stop scooting around the original question.”  
“Which was?”  
“How bad did you screw up?”  
Natasha found herself picking at a piece of brick that jutted out, coating the underside of her nail in brownish-red grime. “Pretty bad,” she said after a moment. “I lied to Clint so I could meet up with Loki. Then I treated Loki like a piece of shit when he was having a slight crisis. I’m guessing you know about the whole low-self esteem thing.”  
“Try no self-esteem,” Tony quipped, unhelpfully.  
“Yeah, well I kind of kicked him when he was down. And now they both hate me.”  
She was incredibly proud that she didn’t have an emotional breakdown right there and then, but the slight croak in her tone was enough for Tony to give her a sympathetic hug. It was slightly awkward because they were both sitting down and he had to lean across himself, but it was well-meaning and a bit uncharacteristic, in the nicest sense. “What am I supposed to do, Tony?”  
Tony thought for a moment; a trait he didn’t usually possess (the trait being giving his brain time to connect to his mouth) before patting her head.  
Like Clint did when he shook her awake from Tony’s couch.  
“Everyone makes mistakes, grasshopper. And that is rich, coming from me, but it’s true.” He paused to smile lopsidedly. “And I don’t know about Loki, because we didn’t exactly part on fabulous terms…”  
“The party,” she said, wishing she could take it back almost instantly (what was new?).  
“God, drama really does follow you around, doesn’t it Nat?” He looked at her moist eyes and trembling lip. “Okay, I didn’t mean that.  
“But in my defence I was both drunk and high at the time. I usually wouldn’t go that ballistic at him for turning up to a party.”  
Natasha laughed slightly and wondered how often Tony used that excuse, also noting the matter-of-fact tone he used and whether he was a lot sadder than he wanted to appear. Tony came off abrasive, sarcastic as hell and obnoxious – and he was, but he also went a lot deeper. She knew a thing or two about masks, but probably not as much as Tony. She also began to see why he was with Loki; albeit briefly, and with hints of regret.  
“So in that, I don’t know how to fix it with him. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you kind of betrayed him and his trust, yadda yadda yadda. I know a lot about that. And he won’t want to trust you again for a while,” Tony said with a sad sigh. “Or forever.”  
Natasha wondered if he’d forgotten who they were talking about.  
“But I’m sure you’ll figure something out. That guy’s a walking train wreck, and he’s not exactly on my nice list, but I can see why you’d want to be his friend. I think.”  
“Thanks, Tony,” Natasha whispered, although a part of her was drifting from the conversation and reminding her incessantly that she’d considered the possibility she wanted more than friendship from the defective and mysterious Loki. That part of her usually suffered a beating from the Clint sections, but today it appeared to have free reign.  
“And what about Clint?” She said. “You know him better than I do.”  
“I don’t think I do,” Tony laughed, taking off his sunglasses and folding them into the fold of his V-neck. “But luckily, that guy’s a lot simpler. You just gotta grow some, march right through those gates, look him in those gorgeous blues and tell him you’re sorry. Face to face. Chances are he’ll tell you to shove it up your ass, but in all honesty I think he really wants to forgive you. That guy can fly a plane longer than he can hold a grudge.”  
“Huh.” Natasha wasn’t sure why she was absentmindedly wondering how easy it would be to get the brick dust from under her fingernails, but Tony managed to place it.  
“You’re scared about going back to school,” he pointed out in that brutal way of his. “But you owe it to him.”  
Natasha smiled thinly and looked at him for a second, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You know, you’re pretty good at this advice stuff,” she said. “I like this Tony better than the obnoxious ass one.”  
Tony raised a finger. “Ah. But the latter requires about half as much effort.”  
“Point taken,” Natasha laughed.  
“Okay!” Tony said, hopping down from the wall and brushing his overly-priced clothes down before looking distastefully down at his jeans which were tinged dark red. “Even if I hadn’t used up my chick-flick, heart-to-heart quota for the day, your dad is peering quite pointedly through the blinds at us. I think you should go inside so he knows I haven’t kidnapped you.” He glanced again around the street. “Then again, I don’t think it’s me you need to worry about.”  
“You act like I live in the hood, Tony,” Natasha said, flicking him. “Sorry it’s not Beverly Hills.”  
“All the same,” he said, sliding his sunglasses back down over his eyes and brushing himself off again. “See you around. Tomorrow?”  
Natasha paused halfway up the paved stretch to her front door. The real question was, did she have the balls to show her face to a guy that hated her and his friends that probably felt the same in sympathy.  
“The chemistry lab. Eleven O’clock,” she called over her shoulder.  
Apparently so.  
“Sounds like a date,” came the reply, followed by footsteps and the revved engine of a car fit for a successful businessman and not a teenage boy. “If you chicken out, I’ll send Darcy over,” he threatened jokingly, although with Darcy, it was more of a threat and less of the joke part.  
“Noted,” she replied, cracking open the front door and thinking  
What the hell have I just agreed to?


End file.
